Daring, Nerve and Chivalry
by justin.jossart
Summary: After an incident with the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter finds himself with the body, skills and knowledge of a seventeen year old. Conscripted into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry meets an ancient portrait in a hidden room on the Seventh Floor. Our hero discovers his true purpose as he joins an ancient, forgotten Knightly Order. Meanwhile, Bellatrix Black plots in the shadows...
1. Chapter One

**Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **Full Summary: The Goblet of Fire is enchanted to only select Champions who are of age, but is tricked into choosing fourteen year old Harry Potter. To resolve this internal conflict, the Goblet ages him to seventeen, gifting him the body, knowledge and maturity of a young adult. This older Harry makes friends with a mysterious young woman from Durmstrang, and her secrets could either save him or endanger his life. Meanwhile, in a hidden room on the Seventh Floor, Harry meets an ancestor to help prepare him for the conflicts to come.**

 **A/N: So this one's going to be an epic length monster. Fourth Year is just the beginning. There will be pairings, but I don't want to spoil it, so for now you'll just have to wait and see. Your only hint is that any OC that appears in this fic will be transient or unimportant. Updates will probably be infrequent and unpredictable, but I'll try my hardest to actually finish a fic (for once). I hope you enjoy!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER**

 **Chapter One**

"Do you really think Angelina's got a shot?" 

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. Ron had been obsessed with the Tri-Wizard Tournament for over a month now, and honestly Harry was exasperated with the entire thing. The only time he really thought about the upcoming event was to blame it for the lack of Quidditch.

The Tri-Wizard Tournament was a newly reinstated international event involving the three largest magical schools in Europe: Beauxbatons, located somewhere in southern France, Durmstrang, an Eastern European school with quite the nasty reputation, and of course Harry's own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Each of the three schools would put forward three Tasks, meaning that the three Champions would compete in nine different life threatening situations throughout the course of the year. Meanwhile, the rest of the student body would go about their normal days; their only duty was to show up and watch.

For a brief moment after Professor Dumbledore announced that the school would be hosting the tournament, Harry had allowed himself to daydream about being Hogwarts' Champion. He'd stood in the middle of the an arena, a massive cup held above his head, as people chanted his name. That's when the daydream turned sour. Glory? Fame? Fortune? Harry already had those things, and hated the attention they brought. He hadn't had much time to sulk, however, for the _Daily Prophet_ had reported dark news the following day.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been broken out of Azkaban. No one knew how, or who had done it, but most blamed it on Sirius Black. While Harry and his friends knew that Sirius would never do such a thing, the _Daily Prophet_ and many government officials had announced that the manhunt for the 'Black Cousins' would be intense and unforgiving. Harry had written to his godfather, imploring him to stay away from England no matter what, but he'd yet to receive a reply.

Then the other schools had arrived. Harry hadn't given either of them much thought. Sure, it was cool to see Victor Krum, a prodigal Seeker, in person. Sure, several of the foreign witches were extremely attractive. At the end of the day, however, it didn't really matter. Bellatrix was out there, no doubt working towards her master's resurrection alongside Peter Pettigrew. Harry had no time to think about gorgeous, silver-haired witches or Quidditch. He needed to get stronger, better, and he needed to do it fast. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort returned, and Harry would definitely be the Dark Lord's first intended victim.

"Harry?" Hermione Granger's hand on his shoulder shook the young wizard from his musing. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry," Harry replied, realizing that he was in the Great Hall sitting at the Gryffindor table. He'd mindlessly followed his friends to their customary position at the foot of the table, as far away from the glaring eyes of Severus Snape as possible. Looking down, he saw a half eaten plate of mashed potatoes and gravy.

Hermione frowned. "You haven't said anything at all for almost an hour."

"Just worried about Snuffles," Harry said.

Ron leaned in from Harry's left, jostling his arm. "You reckon he's come back?"

"I hope not," the Potter scion sighed. "But with Bella still out there..."

"It'll be okay," Hermione said firmly. "Snuffles can take care of himself."

"I guess," Harry said, unconvinced. Sirius had taken a lot of punishment in Azkaban. He knew first hand how terrible the Dementors were; their terrible powers causing him to faint from fear and grief every time they came near.

Without warning, the dishes of food cleared away from the tables as the Headmaster and his colleagues stood. The entire hall slowly descended into silence, save for Argus Filch's shuffling steps as he carried the Goblet of Fire towards the head table. Harry briefly felt sorry for the bitter man. He was far too old and weary to be heaving such an enormous object around.

The caretaker heavily dropped the Goblet on an ornate, conjured table in front of Dumbledore. The Headmaster thanked Filch before addressing the entire hall. "Ladies and gentlemen, students from across Europe, it appears that the Goblet of Fire is ready to choose the Champions!" He waited for the excited mutterings to die down before continuing. "If your name is called, please enter the door behind me and wait for myself and the other judges to give you instructions regarding the First Task." Harry looked sharply at the innocent looking wooden door. Despite himself, he couldn't help but be grateful that he wouldn't have to compete in this wretched tournament. He'd had enough life or death situations to last a life time.

The flames inside the fiery Goblet grew in size, changing in color to a bright, sky blue. For a brief moment, Harry imagined one of the sparks or tongues of flame catching Albus Dumbledore's beard and setting the old man's entire head alight. Fighting back a grin, he watched the fire grow ever higher, almost reaching the ceiling before dying down to its original height and color. Years of being Gryffindor's star Seeker let his sharp eyes catch a small scrap of paper fluttering down to be snagged by Dumbledore's outstretched hand. Looking to the Beauxbatons contingent sitting at the Ravenclaw table, Dumbledore shouted, "The Champion for Beauxbatons Academy of is..." the ancient wizard paused for dramatic effect. "Fleur Delacour!"

Polite applause rippled throughout the Great Hall, though Harry could tell that the other Beauxbatons students were unhappy. One boy was left sobbing horribly into his hands while his neighbor looked on in shock and disgust. A gorgeous, silver-haired young woman that had caught Ron's attention the night before stood primly, a wide smile adorning her perfect face. Her smile alone was enough to make Harry's heart wrench in his chest. "That girl is _not_ normal," Hermione muttered. Harry nodded his head in agreement. Ron's eyes never left the pretty witch until she disappeared through the door behind the head table. "Look at all the boys making fools of themselves," she snarled.

"No surprises there!" Ron shouted into Harry's ear, causing him to wince. He didn't understand his friend's excitement. The beautiful witch was obviously way out of both their leagues; there was no point for the redhead to get his hopes up. Harry turned his attention back to the Goblet, which was once again shooting off violent sparks. Its flames this time were a rainbow of colors, shifting rapidly between red, blue, yellow, and green, before shooting toward the ceiling in an amalgam of all four. The entire hall watched the slip of paper flutter casually towards the Headmaster. Even Harry was leaning forward in his seat, wondering who would be chosen. "The Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is..." The headmaster paused for much longer this time, a twinkle in his eye as he surveyed the entire hall before coming to rest on the Hufflepuff table. "Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuffs lost their minds. As one, the entire House was on its feet, clambering to their Champion while shouting their approval. One small Second Year had climbed atop the table, running its length, to launch herself at Cedric, bawling her eyes out on his robes. Their was polite applause from much of the rest of the Hall, except Slytherin, of course. Cedric, after extricating himself from his housemates, grinned brightly as he passed by Dumbledore and through the door beyond.

The Hufflepuffs finally quieted down once the Goblet started roaring higher. It bathed the Headmaster's face in a deep, dark, unnatural crimson that precisely matched the Durmstrang students' uniforms. Once again, the fire flashed towards the ceiling before returning to a merry orange and simmering in the Goblet's basin.

Dumbledore snatched the final piece of parchment from the air. "The Champion for the Durmstrang Institute is... Lyra Noir!" More polite applause echoed from the Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students, though the Durmstrang contingent sat in silence at the Slytherin table. Harry couldn't really blame them. Everyone had just assumed that Victor Krum would be chosen as Durmstrang's Champion. Then again, Harry knew first hand that skill with a broom didn't necessarily equate to skill with a wand.

All ruminations of Victor Krum were driven from his mind when a young woman stood, making her way towards the head table. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Let everyone else drool over Fleur Delacour's silver, ethereal beauty. Lyra's ebony locks cascaded wildly down her back, the ends brushing her hips. Full lips, dyed a dark crimson, complimented shadowed eyes with impossibly long lashes. The air around her positively crackled with danger and excitement. She caught him staring, her violet eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments, and Harry knew that no woman could ever compare to this goddess. She gave him a wicked smile that left him blushing madly, then turned to follow the other Champions. Harry couldn't help but watch her walk away.

"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione chided beside him. "You'd think you'd never seen a woman before!"

"What?" Harry replied numbly, his thoughts still resting on the raven-haired beauty.

"Boys!" Hermione muttered quietly, annoyed at her friend's antics.

"We have our Champions!" Dumbledore called. "Lyra Noir, Fleur Delacour, and Cedric Diggory!" The Hufflepuff table exploded into another round of cheers. "Your three Champions will compete in Nine Tasks of knowledge, wit, bravery, and skill throughout the course of the year. You won't have to wait long; the First task will commence in two weeks on Novem..." The Headmaster trailed off, frowning. The Goblet of Fire had re-lit itself, its flames a mixture of crimson and gold. The entire hall was immersed in whispered muttering as the flames grew ever higher. Harry couldn't help but notice that the fire seemed uncontrolled, almost wild this time. The Goblet was sputtering and sparking with abandon, shaking heavily on the table. With a loud grating sound, a thin crack ran across the ancient artifact from cup to base.

For a fourth time, the flames shot toward the ceiling, rebounding off the enchanted stone before shooting towards the Gryffindor table. Harry was too stunned to dodge the crimson and gold flames as they surrounded him. Harry could see Ron and Hermione staring at him with worry from beyond the circle of fire, joined quickly by Dumbledore and the rest of the Gryffindors. The headmaster's face was lined with concern, his eyes no longer twinkling. Without warning, the ring collapsed upon Harry.

Pain. So much pain. Harry couldn't think, couldn't feel anything beyond the burning pain that filled his entire body. Shouting, he fell to the ground, not even feeling the hard stone beneath him as he writhed on the floor. The flames were digging into his skin, burning into his mind... into his soul. Eventually, it was too much, and Harry descended into the welcoming, numbing feeling of darkness. The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness's tender embrace was a small slip of parchment twirling its way towards him.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

"Madame Pomfrey! He's waking up!"

Harry awoke slowly to the sound of Hermione's excited shouts. They thundered in his ears, causing his already aching head to throb in protest. Wincing, he opened his eyes, immediately shutting them again as the evening sun pierced through his head like a lance. Everything hurt, from his head to his toes. Every inch of skin, every bone, every muscle in his body ached, though they were mostly drowned out by the pounding in his skull.

"Mister Potter," Madame Pomfrey's calming voice said softly beside him. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," Harry croaked, regretting the decision to speak. His voice was raw, even breathing was an exercise in masochism. "Water?"

" _Aguamenti,_ " came the reply. He heard water being poured into a glass, then felt that glass pushed into his hand. Slowly, painfully, he brought the glass to his lips. The cool, refreshing water helped soothe his sore throat, giving him the courage to once again open his eyes.

Blinded once again by the evening sun streaking through the open window across the room, Harry raised one hand to block the offending rays of light. Madame Pomfrey evidently understood his predicament, waving her wand and causing the window's shutters to snap shut with a bang. "Thanks."

"It's no problem, Mister Potter. How are you feeling?"

"Hurts."

The matron frowned. "I imagine it does. Let me get something to help relieve the pain." She bustled over to a nearby cabinet, rummaging through it before returning with a goblet full of a dark red liquid. "Drink up. The Headmaster will be here shortly."

Harry complied, gulping down the foul tasting liquid. Almost immediately, the pain lancing through his body faded, though it didn't disappear entirely. "What... what happened?" He was still groggy.

"What do you remember, Harry?" Hermione piped up from behind Madame Pomfrey. The older woman seemed perturbed by her interruption, but still nodded for the young man to answer the question.

"I... remember the Goblet." His voice sounded different, deeper. "Then Beauxbatons's Champion... I can't remember her name."

"Fleur Delacour," his friend supplied. "Ron thinks she's part Veela."

"Veela? I guess..." Harry recalled the beautiful girl, flushing slightly. "Then Diggory. The 'Puffs were really happy."

Madame Pomfrey smirked. "We still are," she said haughtily. Harry couldn't help but let out a painful chuckle.

"Then... Lyra. Lyra Noir." Harry blushed furiously at the thought of the beautiful girl. Though he'd only seen her for a moment, he could still vividly remember her dark hair and violet eyes.

"Honestly!" Hermione scoffed. "You're as bad as Ron!"

Harry couldn't bring himself to deny the comparison. "Then... the Goblet attacked me," Harry said, frowning. "It went wild. Merlin's beard! The fire!" Fumbling for his glasses, he frantically searched his arms for signs of burns. Though there were no signs of scarring, burns or otherwise, what he saw caused him to worry far more. His arms looked different. They were bigger, more muscular, and much longer than he remembered. Confused, he looked to his feet. They were far further from his head than they should have been. "What the...?"

"Mister Potter, please remain calm," Madame Pomfrey ordered, placing a hand on his chest. Ignoring her, Harry shrugged her off, throwing the thin blanket to the floor. He was in someone else's body. That wasn't his broad chest gasping for air. It wasn't his legs stretching towards the end of the bed. Disregarding both Hermione's and Pomfrey's warnings, he stumbled to his feet, unable to miss the fact that he towered over them both. He'd been Hermione's height before the incident.

Frantically, he stumbled towards the nearby bathroom, tripping over his own feet. He fought down the nauseousness that threatened to overwhelm him. He reached for the door, yelping in pain as his too-long limbs caused him to jam his fingers.

"Mister Potter!" He could hear Madame Pomfrey calling him back, but he didn't care. He had to see. Finally fumbling the door open, he staggered to the mirror above the sink. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he'd see, he gazed at his reflection.

It wasn't his face looking back at him. He could still see parts of himself, but they were different. He was older, for sure. His face had lost all traces of boyish youth, showing off angular cheek bones. The reflection's strong jawline was completely foreign, his dark brow sat heavily above his eyes. He looked almost exactly as his father had on his wedding day, though Harry's eyes were green. People had told him all his life that he had his mother's eyes, but now he knew that they were wrong. They shared the same emerald orbs, but his were shaped just as his father's had been. Harry ran a hand along his jaw. A week's worth of stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin.

"Mister Potter," Madame Pomfrey said softly from the doorway. "Please return to your bed."

"How long?" Harry asked, his voice shaking. "How long was I out?"

"Almost a week," she replied, causing Harry to shoot a disbelieving glance in her direction. "Six days, to be precise."

"There's no way." He shook his head, unable to comprehend what was going on. All the fight drained out of him as he leaned heavily against the sink. "I look like I'm in my late teens. People don't age four or five years in six days."

"These are... unusual circumstances," Madame Pomfrey replied, not unkindly. Harry allowed the matron to guide him back to his bed. Hermione gazed at him, concern written across her face. She didn't look any older, lending credence to Pomfrey's claim that he hadn't been unconscious for years. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, unable to ignore the fact that his feet reached the ground. A week ago they would have been left dangling in the air. "The Headmaster will be able to explain it to you much better than I can."

As if on cue, Albus Dumbledore chose that moment to enter the Hospital Wing. His blue eyes swept over the room, focusing on Harry. "Harry," he said kindly, his voice soft. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know," the young man replied honestly. "Everything hurts. I feel different, and I look like a Seventh Year. It's a lot to take in." He looked up at the older man. "What happened to me?"

"Miss Granger, Madame Pomfrey, would you please give us a few minutes?" Dumbledore asked. Both women acquiesced, though the matron only did so with great reluctance. After they left, closing the door to the Hospital Wing behind them, the Headmaster turned back to its only patient. "First of all, Harry, I need to know: Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry shook his head, almost offended. "No, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard. "I didn't think so. I wondered at first, but after having some time to consider it, I decided that it would be completely out of character. Professor Moody is investigating, but there aren't many leads."

"Do you think that Voldemort had anything to do with it?"

"I don't know," Dumbledore replied. "It doesn't seem like his style, honestly. Any plot to harm you via the tournament would be needlessly complicated. If he could infiltrate the castle with one of his followers, why not just have them kidnap or attack you themselves? Why go through all of the effort it would take to trick the Goblet of Fire?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, scratching at the stubble beneath his chin. It was extremely itchy. "But who else could have done it?"

"Though we can't rule out Voldemort's involvement, we can't place the blame on him or his followers without evidence," the Headmaster rebuked. "It could be any number of people for any number of reasons. Focusing on Voldemort could blind us to evidence of the true perpetrator, letting them go free."

"I guess," the young man shrugged. "So... what happened to me?"

Dumbledore sighed. "The Goblet of Fire is a very powerful, very ancient artifact. For centuries, it has been enchanted to only choose three students who are seventeen and older. Some unknown person managed to alter those enchantments very slightly, tricking the Goblet to believe that there were instead four schools instead of three, then casting an extremely powerful Confundus Charm to force it to accept a name of an underage student."

Harry nodded, easily understanding. "I thought the Age Line would prevent underage students from entering, not the Goblet itself."

"The Age Line was placed to protect students from the Goblet. If an underage student had attempted to place their name in, it would have burned them while rejecting their parchment. I had no desire to see the Weasley twins get scarred for life because they believed an Aging Potion would allow them to trick a powerful artifact."

"So whoever put my name in had to have been really powerful, too."

The wizened Headmaster nodded. "There are not many witches or wizards in Britain capable of such a feat. Bellatrix Lestrange is one of the more likely candidates."

Harry gulped. "I heard that she was crazy. That she was utterly deranged. Why wouldn't she have just attacked me?"

"Why indeed?" Dumbledore replied thoughtfully.

"But why did the Goblet attack me?" Harry asked, starting to get impatient. All of this speculation was interesting, but he needed answers. "Why am I older?"

"Ah, yes. My apologies. We assume that your name was the only submission for an unnamed fourth school, and that the Goblet was Confunded to allow your name to be submitted at all. In essence, it was _forced_ to choose your name, though you were underage." Harry nodded, wishing the old man would get to the point. "However, such a thing went against centuries of powerful enchantments, causing several of them to conflict with each other."

"Okay..."

"Keep in mind that this is all conjecture. On one hand, the Goblet _had_ to choose a student for this unknown fourth school. On the other, it _couldn't_ choose an underage student. Two of its most basic enchantments clashed against each other, which is likely the cause of the Goblet's more... enthusiastic final choice."

"That still doesn't explain why it made me seventeen," Harry said flatly.

"Doing so was the only avenue that the Goblet of Fire had to bring all of its conflicting enchantments back into harmony. If you were of age, then it could choose you without difficulty."

"How could it even age me in the first place?" Harry demanded. "I thought it was simply enchanted to choose names for the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"The Goblet is an ancient, powerful artifact from an age long gone," Dumbledore replied patiently. "It predates the tournament, even Hogwarts itself. No one truly remembers its original purpose, and though its enchantments have been altered slightly over the years, there's not a soul alive that would be able to tell you what the Goblet of Fire is truly capable of." Harry frowned. Why would they use something when they had no clue what it did? "Furthermore," the Headmaster continued, "the Goblet was enchanted during the Age of Wonders using methods long lost. That's why we're able to adjust its abilities only very slightly, and even then we must be cautious. Wizards have been studying the Goblet and its like for nearly a millennia to unravel the secrets of such objects. There are very few artifacts from the Age of Wonders left; most have been lost or destroyed, but those that still exist are powerful beyond anything we create today. Your Invisibility Cloak is one."

Harry's eyes widened. "My invisibility cloak is that old?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, smiling. "Your cloak is one of the most powerful artifacts to ever grace Britain's shores. The invisibility cloaks that you're able to find in a shop are vastly inferior, though still wildly expensive." The old man leaned back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "They are woven from demiguise fur and enchanted with powerful Disillusionment Charms, making the wearer invisible to the naked eye. Spells such as _Homenum Revelio_ will reveal the wearer to their enemies. Yours, on the other hand, is _the_ Invisibility Cloak, able to mask not only your physical body, but even your magic and soul from detection. If the legends are true, even Death itself cannot find you beneath its folds."

"Wow," Harry replied, stunned. "That's pretty cool."

"Indeed," the Headmaster replied, his eyes twinkling. "Please exercise caution when revealing its true nature. Many would happily kill you without hesitation to get their hands on such a priceless artifact. It has more powers than even you know."

"Like what?"

"All in due time, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "It is up to you to discover the cloak's abilities."

Harry frowned as a sudden thought struck him. "If the cloak is what you say, how did you see me beneath it in my First Year?"

The Headmaster chuckled. " _You_ were undetectable. The door and your footsteps were not."

Harry couldn't help but flush, embarrassed. He resolved to always cast a Silencing Charm when wearing it from now on. "Professor, what happens now? With the tournament?"

The twinkle disappeared from Dumbledore's eyes. "You must compete. To do otherwise would risk both your life and magic. The Goblet, upon choosing a name, created a binding magical contract that cannot be broken."

"How? I thought contracts had to be signed by _both_ parties. The others 'signed' their side of the contract by putting their name in, right?" The Headmaster nodded, clearly unaware of where Harry's train of thought was going. "I'm sure that if the Goblet of Fire is as powerful as you say, it could detect anyone trying to forge someone else's name. If I didn't put my name in, how could _I_ be bound to a magical contract?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened. Though the emotions were very swift, and very subtle, Harry could clearly see shock and suspicion flash across the old teacher's face. "How indeed? Perhaps someone was able to get a hold of your signature from an unrelated piece of parchment...?" The Headmaster stood, pacing at the foot of Harry's bed. A long moment passed before he turned back to Harry sharply. "Has anyone asked you for an autograph recently?" Harry was stunned. He'd never seen the professor like this. The grandfatherly air he normally possessed was gone, replaced by the powerful wizard standing before him.

The young man shook his head. "No. I don't go around signing autographs, Professor, despite what Snape thinks."

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry," Dumbledore scolded, resuming his pacing. "What, exactly, have you signed your name on since term began? Think carefully."

Harry took a moment to consider the question. "Just homework."

"Nothing else? Not a doodle on a scratch of parchment, not in any of your books?"

"No, sir."

The old man didn't reply for a long time, merely paced at the foot of the bed, stroking his beard absentmindedly. "You've given me a lot to consider, Harry. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." The Headmaster turned to leave, before addressing the young man. "I nearly forgot. You will be expected to attend the traditional Weighing of the Wands ceremony tomorrow at four o'clock in the Great Hall. The First Task will be held on the fourteenth of November. You will receive further instructions before then. You are, of course, excused from all classes in order to prepare for the arduous Tasks before you. Use your time wisely." With a nod, the Headmaster opened the door, showing both Hermione and Madame Pomfrey waiting in the hallway beyond.

"Professor!" Harry called after him. Dumbledore stopped, giving the young man his full attention. Harry tried to hide his vulnerability, but he didn't think he was successful. "Is there any way that I can go back to how I was? Can you undo what the Goblet did to me?"

Dumbledore's harsh gaze softened. "I will do my best. There's a chance that once the tournament is over, you will revert back to your old self. It's unlikely, though, and I implore you to not get your hopes up." Harry's heart sunk, his head dipping as he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "I will do everything I can. You have my word."

 **A/N: And there's Chapter One! Let me know what you think! Reviews are appreciated and help me get the gumption to write faster. And if you figure out the pairing... kindly leave it out of the reviews so you don't spoil it for everyone.**


	2. Chapter Two

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: First of all I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed so far. Reviews are always appreciated, and until (if) they become too numerous for me to easily reply to, I'll do my best to answer all of them. This will be a pretty slow moving story, which is new for me. I tend to rush ahead, looking forward to certain scenes that I haven't properly built up to. I'm fighting that urge this time, trying to build relationships between the principle characters and not just blow through dialogue, so bare with me. I really want to tell this story properly, without hurrying ahead to the 'juicy parts.**

 **Samain96: We're building up to that! Harry hasn't even been awake for two hours by the end of Chapter One. Chapter Two should give you some hints as to what's coming. I appreciate your review!**

 **Chapter Two**

Madame Pomfrey elected to keep him in the Hospital Wing overnight. Harry was all too happy to agree; the moment he stepped outside those doors it would all become real. Hermione had stayed behind as long as she could, though the silences were long and awkward. He didn't want her to cheer him up. There was nothing she could say or do to make things better. She'd left at Pomfrey's insistence without a fight, looking almost grateful that she could finally escape without guilt.

After hours of tossing and turning, he had finally fallen into a restless sleep. Images of textbooks and complicated formulas pounded through his head. Runes in languages he'd never even heard of flashed before him, one after the other, over and over again until he finally... woke up.

Dawn's early light filtered through the window behind him. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his hospital gown clung to his chest. His head throbbed painfully; it felt like an entire troupe of Goblins were mining for gold within his skull.. Thankfully, it seemed that the rest of his body had recovered from the Goblet's ordeal. After a few deep breaths, the pounding in his head subsided to a dull ache, and he finally felt well enough to try to stand up.

His entire body felt strange and foreign. His limbs were too long, his shoulders were too broad, and he could feel lean muscles rippling beneath his skin, coiled with unfamiliar power. He took a brief walk around the infirmary, trying to get some semblance of familiarity with this new body. It was weirder than when he'd used Polyjuice Potion to imitate Crabbe in his Second Year.

A weary looking Madame Pomfrey stepped from her office rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Do you have any idea what time it is, Mister Potter?"

"Uh..."

"It's five-thirty in the morning. Go back to bed," she grouched. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "It's still weird, but it doesn't hurt anymore."

"Good. Bed. Now." The matron disappeared back into her office.

He considered acquiescing to her request, but his rumbling stomach changed his mind. Snagging his wand from his bedside table, Harry transfigured his hospital gown into a set of school robes before heading out the door. He'd reached the staircase before realizing that he'd never learned how to transfigure clothing, much less how to do so without the proper incantation.

It took all his mental willpower to avoid freaking out. He grasped the banister tightly, fighting down the urge to run screaming back to Madame Pomfrey or the Headmaster. "It's just the Goblet," he told himself firmly, thinking back to his dreams. Apparently, the blasted thing wasn't satisfied with only meddling with his body, it was now teaching him spells in his sleep. What else would it change? Would he even recognize himself when it was done? Could he even trust his own thoughts?

Taking a deep breath, Harry fought these questions down. It wouldn't do him any good to worry about it, and neither Pomfrey nor Dumbledore could help him. As far as he knew, he was a unique case. The best thing he could do was to roll with the punches. If a voice in his head tried to get him to start drowning puppies he'd seek help, but until then he'd muddle through it on his own.

He finally made his way down to the Great Hall. The room was empty, save for a pair of older Ravenclaws spending more time studying each other's tonsils than the books they had spread out in front of them. Harry cleared his throat as he passed, letting them know that they weren't alone. The girl looked up, startled, but was soon seduced back into her boyfriend's embrace.

Harry settled into his usual spot near the end of the elongated Gryffindor table, his stomach growling at all the food laid out in front of him. He piled his plate high with a bit of everything, giving his bacon, sausage and egg sandwich his full attention.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said as the old man sat beside him. "I thought I'd find you here, once you turned up missing from Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye." There was no rebuke in his tone, merely good-natured humor.

"I was hungry," Harry mumbled around his breakfast. "I haven't eaten in a week." Looking up, he noticed that the Ravenclaws had abandoned their tonsil studies and were instead focused on their books. Save for his rumpled robes and her slightly messed hair, he'd have never known that they'd been snogging for almost a half hour.

"I can only imagine," Dumbledore replied. "I merely wanted to let you know that you have permission to visit Hogsmeade to purchase new clothing. I assume that none of your old garments will fit. Impressive transfiguration, by the way."

"You'd assume correctly." Harry thought it best not to mention that he knew ways to get out of the castle whenever he wanted. "And thank you."

The Headmaster chuckled, buttering a piece of toast. "As a Champion, you have the right to visit Hogsmeade at your leisure, though I implore you to not abuse this privilege, nor flaunt it in front of your classmates."

"I'll do my best," Harry said, swallowing. "Why do Champions get to visit whenever they want?"

"Well, all of our visiting students have free reign of the village. It would put yourself and Mister Diggory at a disadvantage if you were only allowed to go once a month. You never know when you'll need potion or enchanting supplies."

"Fair enough. So, any clues about how my name ended up in the Goblet?"

"I have theories, but nothing concrete," Dumbledore evaded skillfully. "I'll let you know the moment we learn something."

"I'd appreciate that," Harry replied. "Anyways, I'd better be off. These transfigured robes aren't going to last forever. I'd hate to end up starkers in the middle of the Great Hall."

"I'm afraid I'd have to consign you to detention if you did."

The young man chuckled. "Farewell, Professor."

"Farewell, Harry. Don't forget about the ceremony at four." Harry nodded, then made his way towards Gryffindor Tower. Now that his hunger had been stifled, he definitely needed a shower. He didn't want the seamstress at Gladrags to have to smell a week's worth of body odor, after all. He'd never been up this early, and he kind of liked how quiet it was. He'd had more than his share of night time adventures, but now he didn't have to sneak around. He could leisurely stroll down the empty corridors without ducking behind a suit of armor every ten feet.

The Gryffindor common room was similarly abandoned. It's only occupant was Hermione, who was fast asleep over an enormous tome that was thicker than her head, bushy hair and all. Curious, he looked over her shoulder to see what she was reading, though her head blocked most of it.

 _-blet of Fire is one of the most esoteric of all-_

 _-ne knows. Many think that the Goblet is a-_

 _-sed in rituals by early Pagans to elect a leader._

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. Of course Hermione's knee-jerk reaction would be to check a book for ways to help him. Softly brushing a few strands of her chestnut hair from her face, he gazed down at his best friend. Emotions, unbidden and undefinable, rose in his chest. He didn't deserve a friend like her, but he was grateful all the same.

"Hermione," he said softly, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up."

"-Arry?" she said groggily, not opening her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Probably about six-thirty."

"Too early. Wake me up in an hour," she said, nuzzling her face against her arms.

Harry smirked. "You're drooling all over Madame Pince's book," he lied.

That got her attention. She bolted upright, wiping her mouth to dry the non-existent drool. "You git!" she exclaimed furiously, turning her chocolate gaze to him. Harry couldn't help but notice the slight recoil in her eyes. She hadn't recognized him at first glance, and he had to admit that it kind of hurt.

Forcing a bright smile upon his face, the young wizard made his excuses before heading off towards the boys' bathroom at the top of their staircase. After a long, scalding hot shower, during which his poor transfigured robes reverted back into a hospital gown, he once again gazed at himself in the mirror. It was startling to see a stranger's face, so like his own, looking back at him. He scratched at the heavy stubble lining his jaw. He'd definitely need to get razors while he was out... probably a hair cut while he was at it. He vaguely wondered if there was a Shaving Charm. Hermione would probably know. His shaggy locks, still as unmanageable as ever, were starting to brush his shoulders.

Sighing, he put on the poor gown before transfiguring it back into fresh, crisp robes. The rest of Gryffindor Tower was starting to stir, and he didn't want to run into any of his friends yet. He wanted to put off seeing Ron for as long as possible. Hermione had carefully neglected to mention their redheaded friend the night before, so something was definitely up. Beating a quick retreat through the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry quickly made his way down the stairs and through the castle's wide front doors. It was over a mile trek through the gates to get to Hogsmeade, and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get there before his robes reverted.

The Beauxbatons flying carriage was parked on the grounds near the gates, while Durmstrang's ship was anchored ominously just off the shoreline. A long, thick plank roughly ten feet wide stretched over the water in between. A few Durmstrang students were crossing the wooden structure, departing the ship to head towards the Great Hall. Harry couldn't help but pause, looking for any sign of Lyra Noir, but he didn't see her.

The walk into Hogsmeade was different without his friends. After passing through Hogwarts's wrought iron gates, he was immersed in a quiet world of rolling hills. He could see the town down below. Eventually, he could hear Britain's only magical village come to life. The streets were pretty empty, but as he entered the village he could hear mothers cooking in their kitchens, shouting for their children to wake up. Store owners were opening up their shops, unlocking their doors and preparing for business.

Harry could see himself settling down here one day, in the quiet bustle of a small town. He'd live on the outskirts, of course, but a small, out-of-the-way cottage sounded nice. A wistful grin on his face, Harry pushed open the door to Gladrags Wizard Wear. The shop was empty, though he could hear someone moving around in the back room.

"Hello?" he called.

A young woman's voice shouted back. "Just a minute!" A few moments later, a pretty brunette hurried through the swinging door to the back room. She could only be a year or two out of Hogwarts herself. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of inventory. I'm Melinda."

"Harry," he replied, shaking her hand.

"Firm grip," she teased, pushing back a lock of hair that had escaped her loose ponytail. "I didn't know it was Hogsmeade Weekend already."

"Special permission," he replied with a grin of his own. "I kinda have to buy a new wardrobe."

"What happened to your old one?"

"Kind of a long story."

Melinda leaned over the counter, giving him a nice view her rather ample cleavage. He tried not to look but failed miserably. "That sounds positively scandalous," she smirked, noticing his obvious ogling. "So... what are you looking for?"

Harry valiantly attempted to fight down his blush. "I guess I'll need a few sets of school robes, some casual wear... do you have any jeans?"

"We do! We get a lot of Muggleborns in here looking for jeans to wear on the weekends."

"Alright, if you want to stand over here," she said, gesturing to a small podium. "We can get you measured. Hopefully we can get it all done before those transfigured robes give out."

Harry's blush returned with a vengeance. "You could tell?"

"Clothing is my job. Of course I could tell. My only question is what are they really?" she asked, grabbing her tape measure.

"A hospital gown. It doesn't cover much."

"Mmmm... this story of yours is getting more and more intriguing," Melinda smirked again. "Though I may have to take my time... I'm curious about how much this hospital gown really covers." Harry's face blushed even harder. He wasn't used to being flirted with, much less by a pretty, older witch measuring his inseam. She giggled lightly at his strangled expression. "Relax, Harry, I'm only teasing."

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered while she finished her work.

"Alrighty then. I definitely have some stuff in your size. I'll only need to make some minor adjustments. Your shoulders are rather... broad... for your height." She ran her hands along his shoulders to emphasize her point, then giggled at his embarrassment.

Two hours later, Harry escaped Gladrags. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stop blushing. Melinda had teased him mercilessly the entire time; the pretty young witch seemed to enjoy his reactions. He knew he'd made a fool of himself, and had tipped her heavily to compensate. She had giggled the entire time he was rushing out of the store wearing a crisp new set of school robes and a new wardrobe shrunk in his pocket.

He went over the entire conversation over and over during his trip to the barber's, hating himself for acting like such a child. Every time she flirted with him he'd blushed, which only caused her to tease him even more. He cursed himself for not even trying to get her number, before realizing that she probably didn't even have a phone. Neither, for that matter, did he. He briefly wondered how new couples courted in the wizarding world. Everyone couldn't be like his parents and fall in love at school, after all. Owl post seemed the most logical answer, but that seemed kind of slow. The matron cutting his hair had tried to strike up a conversation, but Harry decided that he'd embarrassed himself enough for one day.

The castle was bustling with activity by the time he finally ascended the stone steps that lead to the front door, freshly shaven and sporting a much shorter head of hair. It was already well past ten o'clock, so most of the students were attending their morning classes or were enjoying a free period. He couldn't fight a smirk once he realized that _every_ class was a free period for him, but sobered after he remembered why. He was supposed to be training for nine Tasks that could kill him, not lounging in the Common Room playing gobstones.

A few of the older Gryffs were in the common room, but none of them seemed to recognize him when he entered. Thanking Merlin for small favors, he launched himself up the stairs to the Fourth Year Dormitories. While unshrinking and putting away his new wardrobe, a sudden and loud _crack_ sent him diving for cover. He hastily slipped his wand from his sleeve, but was brought short by a pair of eyes the size and color of tennis balls.

"Master Harry Potter sir! It's so good to see you're safe!"

"Dobby?" Harry was flabbergasted. He hadn't seen the demonic little bugger since the House Elf had tossed Lucius Malfoy down a set of stairs at the end of his Second Year. "You're not here to protect me, are you?" He edged away from the small, slightly hunched creature.

"Oh, no sir! Professor Dumbles made Dobby promise to stays away until you came to see Dobby in the kitchens, but Dobby heard about what that nasty cup did to you." The House Elf quivered with rage. "Dobby tried to smash the nasty cup, but Professor Dumbles made Dobby stop."

"Uh... that's good? So you've been working for Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir!" Dobby said, before running to the nearby window. "BAD DOBBY! BAD DOBBY!" The elf climbed up on the window sill, and only Harry's Quidditch reflexes stopped Dobby from taking a swan dive onto the grounds below. "Thank you, Master Harry Potter sir! You are truly a generous and forgiving Master."

Harry was completely lost. "Why'd you try to throw yourself out of the window?!"

"Dobby's not supposed lie to his Master," the elf said guiltily, one foot making circles on the rug beneath him. "House Elves are supposed to always tell Master the truth."

Finally, Harry got it. "Dobby," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Did you Bind yourself to me without permission?"

"No, Master Harry Potter sir," the Elf replied evasively, gazing at the floor.

"Dobby..." Harry felt like he was dealing with a child.

"When the bad Master gave Dobby a sock, Master Harry Potter shook Dobby's hand to congratulate Dobby for being a free elf." Harry nodded, letting him continue. "When a wizard shakes the hand of a free elf, it's almost always an offer of Binding."

Harry rubbed his temples. This was turning into an excessively long day, and it wasn't even noon. "So let me get this straight. Lucius Malfoy freed you by accidentally giving you a sock... then I Bound you by accidentally shaking your hand five minutes later?"

"Uh-huh!" Dobby nodded, his large ears flopping. "When Master Harry Potter sir offered Dobby his hand, Dobby just assumed... But then Professor Dumbles told Dobby that Master Harry Potter wouldn't have known what that meant."

"So it's all just a misunderstanding?" Harry replied dryly. not quite believing the House Elf. "You just happened to assume that a twelve year old Muggle-raised kid would know what shaking a free elf's hand meant?"

Dobby nodded, glancing down at the floor. A moment later, he was bashing his head against Harry's trunk, shouting, "Bad Dobby! BAD DOBBY!"

Grabbing the little creature by the back of his makeshift toga, Harry hauled Dobby away from the trunk. He lifted the elf into the air to look Dobby in his creepy tennis ball eyes. "Alright, that's enough of that. No more punishing yourself without permission, got it?" The slightly dazed House Elf nodded. "And no more of this 'Master Harry Potter Sir' crap. My name is Harry."

"Yes, Master Harry P... Master Harry."

"Good enough." For a moment, Harry considered giving the Elf one of Uncle Vernon's old socks, but finally decided against it. Dobby, as weird as he was, could wind up being dead useful. And as long as the little bugger was working for him, maybe Dobby wouldn't feel the need to save Harry's life without his permission. After all, the Elf had been in his employ for over a year without any overtly dangerous 'life saving' tactics.. "I guess that's it for now. Go back to working in the kitchens until I call for you."

"Yes, Master Harry Pot... Master Harry!" Dobby snapped his fingers, disappearing with a loud _crack_. Harry sat heavily on his trunk, massaging his temples again. Just talking to the House Elf was enough to bring his ever-present headache back in full force. Sighing, he retrieved his wand-care kit from his trunk. The Weighing Ceremony was only a few hours away, and he didn't want to show up with a smudged wand.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

There were quite a few people in the Great Hall when Harry showed up a few minutes before four. The House tables were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a few dozen wooden chairs that faced the raised platform where the Head table usually sat. Reporters were milling about, talking excitedly in several different languages. Several looked his way when he entered, and an older blonde quickly pushed through the small crowd.

"Harry! Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_. I was hoping you'd answer a few questions." Harry glanced at her acid green robes with a frown. He'd never had anyone pester him for an interview, and he decided that he didn't like it.

"Miss Skeeter," Dumbledore's voice carried from Harry's left. He felt the old man rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You know you're supposed to wait for the press conference like everyone else."

"Albus," Rita replied, her smile sticky sweet, "I was actually here to write a personal interview with Harry."

"Contact my office," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "I'm sure we can try to set something up." Even Harry was able to work out that the Headmaster really meant 'go fuck yourself,' though the professor probably would have worded it kinder. "As it stands, we need to start the ceremony. Have a good day, Miss Skeeter." Dumbledore steered Harry through the crowd of reporters and dignitaries, leading him up to join the other Champions on the raised platform. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander to the beautiful Lyra Noir, who seemed content to flash her dazzling smile at the nearest reporter.

"Harry?" Cedric asked, looking him over. Harry was more than a little surprised that he was an inch or two taller than the Sixth Year Hufflepuff.

"The new and improved," he replied, trying to grin.

"Merlin's beard, I barely recognize you!" Cedric grinned back. "And here I thought you'd be easy pickings!"

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Please. I killed a basilisk with nothing but a sword. This tournament is mine for the taking." He decided to leave out the fact that he'd had a lot of help and more than his fair share of luck during that particular encounter.

"I do not think so, leetle boy," the melodic, heavily accented voice of Fleur Delacour interrupted. She was smiling as well, letting Harry know that she was teasing. "If you're lucky, I will allow you to read my name from ze Tri-Wizard Cup. You both are, how do you say... going down."

"Come on, Frenchie, we both know who's _going down_ around here," a husky female voice in his Harry's ear. "And it's neither of the boys." Harry looked back, stunned to see Lyra standing so close. She was taller than Fleur, but the top of her ebony head still barely reached his chin despite her stiletto heeled boots.

"Geez, Lyra, give the kid a heart attack, why don't you?" Cedric laughed. "Listen, Harry. I was talking to the girls, and we're all getting a drink at the Hog's Head after the ceremony. You should come."

"I said I _might_ attend," Fleur scoffed. "I 'ighly doubt zat Madame Maxime would want me fraternizing with ze enemy."

Cedric raised his hands in surrender. "No shop talk, I promise. This whole thing is supposed to be about 'International Cooperation.'" He punctuated the phrase with air quotes. "Who better to set a good example than the Champions?"

"You just want to get Frenchie drunk," Lyra accused, looking the blonde up and down. "I can see the appeal." Harry closed his eyes, unable to keep the thought of Fleur and Lyra _together_ from permeating his mind. He had a feeling he'd be revisiting that particular image in the near future.

"I'd love to come," Harry finally said, his voice cracking slightly. "Sounds like a lot of fun."

"Good!" Cedric beamed.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Albus Dumbledore called, addressing the reporters and dignitaries from his lectern. All eyes turned towards the Headmaster. "Before we begin with the actual ceremony, we'll be conducting a short press conference. Feel free to address your questions to either the Champions or any of the Judges. Yes, Mister Wulfgard?"

An old man from the second row stood before speaking with a heavy German accent. "Hans Wulfgard, _Bitburg Zeitung._ This is a question for Bartemius Crouch. Three of the five Judges are of British decent. What assurances do we have that the Judges will be fair and balanced when grading the Tasks?"

Crouch stepped forward, his mustache bristling. "While I understand your concerns, most of the Tasks will be have standards, such as time limits and objectives that will determine their scores. In the few Tasks that do not, the Judges will confer with one another before coming to a consensus regarding a Champion's score. Each of the Nine Tasks will be graded out of ten possible points, which will determine their placement and advantage for the tenth and Final Task that culminates the tournament."

"Thank you, Mister Crouch," Wulfgard replied, scribbling furiously into his notebook.

"Mister Anderson," Dumbledore said, pointing towards a young man in the front row.

"James Anderson, _Daily Comet._ There were rumors that Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was almost invited to attend, but those plans were canceled at the last minute. Is there any truth to those rumors?"

Crouch fielded that question, as well. "We discussed inviting Ilvermony, but in the end decided that coordinating ten Tasks for three Champions would be difficult enough without adding a fourth."

"We see how well that worked out," Harry muttered to Cedric, who quickly disguised his laugh as a cough.

Crouch continued, unperturbed. "Providing the success of this tournament, we may consider inviting Ilvermony to the next one, seeing as we have four Champions anyways." A soft chuckle rippled throughout the room.

"Thanks," Anderson said.

"Miss Skeeter?" Dumbledore said. The blonde woman was squirming in her seat trying to get the Headmaster's attention. "Did you have a question?"

"Rita Skeeter of the _Daily Prophet_. Harry, can I call you Harry?"

"Was that your question?" Harry replied dryly, to the amusement of the room.

Skeeter ignored his jibe. "Harry, how does it feel to be named the Hogwarts Champion?"

"I dunno, you'd have to ask Cedric. As far as I'm concerned, he's the Hogwarts Champion, and I'm just the unlucky guy who got suckered into all this." Dumbledore shot him a proud look that made Harry's chest swell.

"So you're still denying that you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"We are still investigating how Mister Potter's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore replied icily. "I have determined that he didn't put volunteer himself, seeing as it would have been quite impossible for him to do so. Unless you're suggesting that a fourteen year old student can hoodwink a powerful, ancient artifact?" Rita scowled before returning to her seat. The Headmaster turned to an older woman in the back. "Madame Bisset?"

"Aurora Bisset, of _Le Monde_. Monsieur Diggory, do you feel slighted by Monsieur Potter's entrance into the tournament?"

Cedric stepped forward, a smile gracing his handsome face. "Not at all. Like Professor Dumbledore and Harry said, he's the only one standing up here who didn't volunteer for this. I look forward to moving our friendly rivalry from the Quidditch pitch to the tournament. He's a tough competitor, and I'm sure Miss Delacour and Miss Noir are as well. It should be an exciting year." Harry couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of the Hufflepuff's easy confidence and charming grin.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

"Final question. Mister Walthrup?"

"Harold Walthrup, _Daily Prophet._ Two part question for Miss Noir and Miss Delacour, if you don't mind." A bearded man in the third row said.

"Not at all, Mister Walthrup," Lyra replied, smiling.

"Do you feel confident, given the strenuous physical nature of the Tasks, that you will be able to keep up with the Boys of Hogwarts? Both are tall, strong, young men and seem to be in peak physical condition."

"I am very confident that my skilled wandwork will overcome any disadvantages that come with my height and stature," Lyra replied icily, her violet eyes boring holes into the old man.

"If he's not careful, he's going to get murdered," Cedric muttered in Harry's ear. Harry nodded his agreement, unable to hide a smirk.

"No offense intended. Miss Delacour, same question."

Fleur's glare was just as heated. "As Mademoiselle Noir 'as so elegantly said, I am not worried. I am supremely confident in my abilities. I was chosen as Champion ahead of many tall, strong, young men in peak physical condition."

"Thank you," Walthrup said, returning to his seat.

"Alright! Let's get the ceremony underway!" Ludo Bagman cried raucously. He seemed a little perturbed that he hadn't been asked any questions. "Mister Ollivander, if you would?"

Garrick Ollivander, widely regarded as Britain's premier wandmaker, stepped forward next to Fleur. The ancient wandsmith looked delighted be included. "I never thought I'd live to see the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Mademoiselle?" Fleur reluctantly handed him her wand. "Hmmm... Nine and a half inches of rosewood, containing... the hair of a Veela?"

"It was my grandmuzzer's," she replied.

"I don't use Veela hair, myself. They make for very temperamental wands, in my experience." Fleur narrowed her eyes, but didn't reply. "However, to each their own. _Orchideous_." A bouquet of roses emerged from the wand's tip. "Well, it seems to be in fine working order." He handed both the bouquet and wand back to the Beauxbatons Champion before moving on to Cedric. Diggory held out his wand for Ollivander's inspection.

"Ah, yes. I remember this wand well. Twelve and a quarter inches, ash, with a single hair from the mane of a particularly fine unicorn," Ollivander said, waving the wand and causing it to spew a stream of silver smoke rings. "It's in very fine condition. I assume that you treat it regularly?"

"I polished it last night," Cedric replied.

"I'll bet you did," Harry muttered, earning himself an elbow to his ribs and a glare from Ollivander.

"Mister Potter," the wandmaker said, holding out his wrinkled hand. Harry dutifully handed over his wand. "Hmmm... it looks like Mister Diggory's not the only one to polish his wand recently," Ollivander said archly while Cedric chuckled. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches... nice and supple. What magic has this wand seen since last we met?" With a wave, a flock of birds erupted from the end of the wand before dispelling into flashes of bright lights. Ollivander handed the wand back to its owner, his silver eyes boring into Harry's. "Great and terrible things, Mister Potter."

The wandsmith shuffled towards the end of the platform next to Lyra, who handed over her wand without complaint. For a long moment, Ollivander studied the wand carefully before turning his gaze to the young woman. Lyra merely arched an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across her beautiful face. Ollivander studied the wand again before clearing his throat. "This is also one of my creations. Twelve and three-quarters inches, walnut, with the heartstring of a rather violent Hungarian Horntail. _Serpensortia_." A foot-long snake shot from the wand's tip, slithering off the stage before disappearing in a puff of black smoke. "It.. it seems to be in working order." Ollivander almost shoved the wand back into the girl's hands before fleeing behind the Judges.

Dumbledore looked on, obviously concerned, but instead turned towards the reporters. "That concludes the Ceremony! We'll have time for few pictures before we leave." Harry rolled his eyes as the Champions and Judges were gathered together.

 **A/N: And there's Chapter Two put down like a rabid dog! I can't believe we're 10k words in and haven't even covered a full 24 hours. Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated and help inspire me to get more chapters out quicker.**


	3. Chapter Three

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: Not much to say, except that this will probably be a make or break chapter for a lot of you. Thanks for the reviews!**

 **Samain96: The knowledge gifted to Harry by the Goblet of Fire encompasses that of a normal seventeen year old wizard. It may be more thorough, but the Goblet isn't going to be teaching him any ancient rituals... though that's not to say that he won't find such rituals somewhere else...**

 **Timelgard: I'm glad you approve. There will be some canon elements to the story. The original three tasks will be making their appearance alongside the seven others, and Harry may or may not have a falling out with Ron. I'm trying to weave together elements of canon, my own ideas, and some ideas borrowed by other fanfiction authors, such as rituals and blood magic, to tell what I hope is a unique story.**

 **ObsessedWithHPFanFic: I'm glad you think so! Also, I can say with 100% certainty that Lyra is not a result of Polyjuice Potion.**

 **Boban094: Kudos on recognizing the wand. I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions regarding Lyra Noir. As for the rest, I guess you'll have to wait and see. If indeed Lyra is Bellatrix, then her involvement in the story would be very crucial to the plot.**

 **Frank: I appreciate the review! To be honest, one of the story's ideas just fell into my head while reading another fanfic, which led to even more ideas, until finally settling on what we have here.**

 **Rabidraiden: I'm sorry if you think that the Goblet is a murky or contrived plot device. I guess I didn't do a good enough job explaining it. I'm glad you're still interested in the story.**

 **Kumonaruto: Well, your wish will be granted in this chapter. I guarantee that you'll learn A LOT more about Lyra.**

 **Chapter Three**

"Merlin's beard! I thought we'd never get out of there!" Harry complained as the four Champions pushed through Hogwarts's massive main doors. "They're vultures, all of them!"

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Cedric laughed. "Though I have to admit, that Skeeter woman was just dying to get a quote from you."

"Zat woman," Fleur sniffed, flipping her silver hair over one shoulder. "No class whatsoever." Harry had to agree. Rita had pestered him all the way out the doors for an interview, still shouting after him after they'd left.

"Awww, come on, Frenchie," Lyra smirked from her place beside Harry. "We all know that you're just jealous. I bet you're used to getting all the attention."

"Well, I can't speak for Fleur, but I can honestly say that that's attention I certainly don't need." Harry hated being the center of attention all the time, and he was quite enjoying being treated as an equal among these older students. None of them were starstruck by his fame, but they didn't treat him like a child, either. He supposed being the tallest helped with they latter.

"So Lyra," Cedric said, turning his gaze towards the young woman. "I've been meaning to ask you about your accent. I can't help but notice that you're British. Why would you be attending Durmstrang?"

She carefully considered her answer. "Let's just say that my parents aren't Dumbledore's biggest fans and leave it at that. Neither is my... brother... for that matter."

Cedric nodded, though he didn't pry further. The foursome made their way towards Hogsmeade, and Harry felt the journey went by much quicker with friendly faces. It wasn't long before he found himself leading the way into the Hog's Head. The pub was still relatively empty, though Harry suspected that as the night wore on more people would show up. Diggory casually walked up to the counter, where the old barkeep was busying himself with polishing a glass. "A private room, if you wouldn't mind, Ab." He turned back to the group. "Blishen's alright?"

Harry, having never drank before, didn't really have a preference, though he could tell that this wasn't a Butterbeer kind of gathering. Lyra didn't seem to care. Fleur, on the other hand, wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I'd much prefer wine. Red, if 'e 'as it."

"You heard the lady. A bottle of Blishen's and a bottle of red. Not the cheap stuff, either." The barkeep rummaged behind the bar before pulling out the requested bottles, nodding his head towards a door to the side of the bar. "Put it on my tab," Cedric called over his shoulder as grabbed the bottles and turned towards his companions. "Shall we?"

"I must use ze lady's room," Fleur replied. "I will join you in a moment. Lyra?" The raven haired goddess seemed surprised that the French witch expected company to use the bathroom, but shrugged and followed without complaint. Harry and Cedric watched them walk away.

"Damn."

"I know."

"Do you realize how many guys would kill to be us right now?"

"I know."

" _Damn_."

"I know," Harry said before clearing his throat. "So, you seemed pretty free with your galleons back there. Nonchalantly buying a 'not cheap' bottle of wine for Fleur, and all."

Cedric chuckled, leading the way towards the private room. "It's more than just a 'not cheap' bottle of wine, Harry. I just bought a hundred and fifty galleon bottle of Elf-made Italian vintage from thirty years ago."

The younger wizard stared at him in shock, his mouth slightly open. He couldn't imagine throwing away that kind of money. "But... you made it seem like such a small deal."

Cedric grinned. "I keep forgetting how young you are. Witches like Fleur and Lyra... they're used to the expensive things. The Delacours are very wealthy, and while I've never heard of the Noir family, they have to be pretty well-off."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, she's wearing a goblin-forged full arm silver bracelet encrusted with emeralds, for one. It's also in the way she carries herself. She's used to power and class," Cedric explained, clasping Harry on the shoulder as they entered their private room. "You have to carry yourself similarly if you want to woo a woman like her."

"Still, a hundred and fifty galleons on a bottle of wine?"

"Let's not pretend like the Blishen's was much cheaper. Besides, it's not like I don't have the money. The Diggorys may not be as extravagantly wealthy as the Potters or Malfoys, but my trust vault won't even notice it missing," Cedric shrugged. "The trick is to make it seem like it's _not_ a big deal. That's where a kid like Malfoy would slip up." The older boy set the bottles on the ornate coffee table in the center of a semi-circle of comfortable chairs and couches before busying himself with the fireplace at the end of the room. The private room, unlike the rest of the Hog's Head, was tastefully furnished in deep reds and warm woods. A long bar, complete with ice and glasses, ran along one wall adjacent to the door.

After leaving the fireplace crackling merrily, Diggory pulled out two short glasses and two tall, crystal wine glasses. He filled the shorter ones with ice before settling in on a squashy velvet arm chair. Harry sat adjacently on an obviously expensive couch, slightly uncomfortable. This was an entirely new experience for him, but he desperately wanted to fit in. "I thought Lyra was drinking Firewhiskey?"

Cedric laughed. "Trust me, Harry. She'll be drinking the wine. Now, where was I?"

"Draco making a fool of himself."

"Right. Now, a guy like him would make a huge deal about buying the most expensive wine in the pub, so everyone would know that he, the great and rich Draco Malfoy, could afford such frivolities." Harry nodded. It sounded like the exact thing Malfoy would do. "And that may work for girls like Parkinson, who have money, but no class. They'd feel superior to be drinking wine that costs more than a Ministry employee makes in a week."

"But Fleur and Lyra aren't like that?"

Diggory shook his head. "Of course not. It's called class. True nobility doesn't rub in the fact that they're richer than everyone else. They just go about their business like everyone else, except their business earns and costs them ten times more. They can afford expensive wine, racing brooms and fancy jewelry, so they buy it." Cedric poured each of them a few fingers of Blishen's. "But making a huge deal about it is tasteless."

"I think I get it."

"You should make it seem like a matter of course. _Of course_ you bought the most expensive bottle. _Of course_ you own a Firebolt. It exudes confidence and status without making you seem like an arrogant git." Cedric took a sip, nodding for Harry to do the same. "You'll want to get your first taste of that before the ladies show up."

Harry complied, taking a small sip of Firewhiskey. It burned its way down his throat, leaving him coughing and spluttering. "Merlin's bloody beard!" he gasped.

The older boy laughed. "You'll get used to it. Blishen's makes Ogden's look like watered down piss, in my opinion."

"Maybe I should have started with the watered down piss!" Harry cried, taking another sip. It went down a little smoother, but only slightly. At least he wasn't hacking all over Diggory again.

"Nonsense!" Cedric cried jovially. "You're a Potter. You should expect the best! Besides, the next round's on you."

"Next round?"

"Well, yeah. We'll probably go through a bottle apiece before the night's through." Harry cringed at the idea of spending three hundred galleons on alcohol. He couldn't imagine how Ron would react to such frivolous extravagance.

"I don't know. Doesn't it seem wrong to spend so much money on booze when other families are barely scraping by?"

"Thinking of the Weasleys?" Harry nodded. "Tell me honestly, Harry. If you could split your trust vault and give them half, would you?"

"Of course! The Weasleys have been great to me."

"Have they? No offense, Harry, but you still walk around in clothes eight sizes too large."

Harry frowned. "They gave me a place to stay for the last few weeks before Second Year, and Mr. Weasley invited me along to the Quidditch World Cup." He didn't like this sudden turn of conversation.

Diggory held up a hand in defense. "I'm not saying that they aren't good people, but we're talking about _tens of thousands_ of galleons, if your trust vault is anything like mine. Would you give old Tom ten thousand galleons for a room at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No."

"Would you pay ten thousand galleons for a seat at the World Cup?"

"No."

"Then why would you give the Weasleys ten thousand galleons for the same thing?" Cedric asked, leaning forward. "The best way to return the Weasleys' kindness would be to help them help themselves. Put in a good word for Percy with the Minister. Invest in the twins' inevitable joke shop. Return their small favors with similar favors, that's all I'm saying."

"I guess," Harry said, noncommittally. "It's just... Ron gets really jealous when I throw around my money or fame." He felt immediately guilty upon admitting it out loud. "You should have seen him when I bought us Omnioculars at the Cup. I guess I'm just so used to tiptoeing around him that I don't really spend much."

"I don't have all the answers, Harry, but it sounds like Ron is insecure." Cedric frowned. "Do you want my honest advice?"

Harry didn't know the answer to that. He liked Diggory, but he'd been friends with Ron for years. He hated talking about him behind his back. On the other hand, the older boy seemed to know what he was talking about. "I guess," he finally said.

"Don't worry about what Ron thinks. In a few years you're going to be entering the real world. You're going to need to know how to act like the Head of House Potter." The door opened, revealing Lyra and Fleur. The French blonde surveyed the room critically before evidently finding it to her standards. The Delacour heiress sat herself primly in the chair next to Diggory, while Cedric poured a measure of wine into one of the crystal glasses. "Ladies! How nice of you to finally join us. We were starting to fear you'd gotten lost."

"Just a little girl talk with Frenchie here," Lyra said, settling in beside Harry on the couch. He couldn't help but compare her to a cat, somehow embodying grace and comfort simultaneously. A quick glance at her arm confirmed Cedric's claim that she was wearing an expensive bracelet. Gleaming silver wound from the top of her hand all the way up her forearm over her tight sleeves. Cedric caught his eye before glancing pointedly at the bottle of wine. Taking the hint, Harry poured her a glass, trying to emulate the older boy's easy confidence.

"Zis is very good," Fleur declared, swirling the contents of her glass appreciatively. "1962 Pravo, unless I am mistaken?" Cedric nodded. "It's a particularly good vintage."

"Agreed," Lyra replied, sipping her own. "Though I'm not as fond as the '64."

"The '64 is trash," Fleur agreed with a smile. "I believe zey let it ferment much too long. Zey tried to make up for it, but ze wine is too dry all ze same." Harry was completely lost, having next to no clue about the process of making wine. He knew grapes were involved, but that was about it. Instead, he sipped his drink, using all his willpower to keep himself from reacting to the fiery sensation the whiskey left behind.

"So, Harry," Cedric said. "You mentioned stabbing a basilisk with a sword?" Harry glanced at him. "You didn't think I'd let that go, did you? I've heard the rumors, of course." Harry had no clue what Diggory was playing at. He knew full well that the majority of the school had a pretty good idea of what happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny Weasley had blurted a good part of the tale to anyone who would listen, regaling them with stories about how Harry had selflessly saved her from Slytherin's monster. Diggory merely raised a questioning brow, and the younger boy realized what Cedric was doing. He was being what Dudley liked to call a 'wing man,' giving Harry the chance to impress the ladies without looking like he was trying to impress them.

"Well, as you know, students had wound up petrified all over the school since the start of the year," Harry started. He told the story as humbly as he could, carefully editing out the parts that involved Voldemort or might have implicated Ginny.

"So who opened the Chamber?" Lyra asked, leaning forward. Her violet eyes were locked on his, flaring with passion.

"A long dead student by the name of Tom Riddle, who'd taken form using an enchanted diary. Called himself a 'memory,' whatever that means." The girl's brow arched at the name. "He sicced his pet basilisk on me after rambling about how great he was." Lyra scoffed, sipping her wine and sitting back. Harry couldn't help but notice that she had settled in quite close to him, her demurely crossed legs touching his.

"I still can't believe a teacher tried to Obliviate you," Fleur said, frowning. "I 'ope zat we are not endangered by another 'Ogwarts professor."

"I can't believe that you had the nerve to stab a sixty-foot basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor," Cedric replied, grinning.

Harry grinned back, deciding to try his hand at playing wing man. "Coming from the guy who caught the snitch in the middle of a thunder storm while surrounded by a hundred Dementors?"

"Dementors? At a school Quidditch match?" Fleur gasped, turning to Cedric. "Yet you still played in ze rain?"

"I don't know if it's all _that_ impressive," Cedric replied, shooting Harry a grateful smile. "They were after Sirius Black, not the players." Lyra tensed as Harry's godfather was mentioned, though that was to be expected. Sirius was a wanted 'criminal,' after all. "Though it was coming down pretty hard."

"I could barely see a foot in front of my face," Harry replied. "It's the only match I ever outright lost." Memories of waking up in the Hospital Wing after that game welled up in his mind. The Gryffindor team had been so dejected, and Harry couldn't help but feel that it was his fault. "Mind you, we still won the Cup."

"Not if you'll listen to my father talk about it," Cedric chuckled. "He still blathers on about that match."

"Believe me, I know. He brought it up three times at the World Cup."

"Don't get me started about the World Cup, with those idiots marching about in masks," Lyra snarled. "Fools like that give all of us Pure-bloods a bad name."

"I was zere," Fleur replied, her face wrinkling in distaste. "It was disgusting. Zose poor children."

"Who's hungry?" Cedric said, obviously trying to change the subject to a brighter note.

Harry spent the evening in their enjoyable company, and the longer he talked with them, the less awkward he felt. It was different than hanging out with Ron or studying with Hermione. He was surprised at how smoothly he fit into the role of a young adult ready to take on the world, and he had to wonder if this was another of the Goblet's influences. He'd never been accused of being overly mature, after all, but sitting here with Cedric, Fleur, and especially Lyra just clicked in a way he hadn't really experienced before. As the conversation drifted to politics or government spending, topics that Harry couldn't remember ever really hearing about, he surprised himself by his unforeseen knowledge about the subjects. It was obvious that they all held very different opinions, but unlike with Ron and Hermione, these differences were casually debated instead of devolving into shouting matches.

All in all, it was a good evening, one he wouldn't mind repeating in the future. Sure, Fleur was a bit snotty, but not in a mean way, and Cedric was nothing short of amazing. Harry, like many of the younger students, had always looked up to the good looking, popular boy, and he couldn't help the feeling of pride that Cedric saw him as an equal or potential rival.

However, the best part of the gathering by far was the enchanting Lyra Noir. Whether it was the second bottle of Firewhiskey, the Goblet, or just the girl herself, Harry felt increasingly comfortable with Lyra's casual affections. They weren't overt, merely a leg pressed against his or a hand on his shoulder while she laughed, but he knew that if such an attractive woman were to shower him with the same contact a week ago he'd have been left a blubbering, stuttering mess. Instead, he felt confident enough to return her small gestures.

By the time the group made their way onto Hogwarts grounds, more than a little inebriated, Harry found himself wishing that the night would never end. He stumbled into his darkened dormitory, his cheek bearing the imprint of Lyra's lipstick and a giant grin plastered on his face. Kicking off his shoes, but not bothering with his robes, Harry flopped into his bed with a contented sigh. Not even Ron's snores could keep him awake for long, and he was soon left to dream about raven hair and violet eyes.

All in all, it had been a very good day.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

Lyra Noir strolled into her cabin aboard the Durmstrang ship humming softly to herself. She allowed herself a particularly wicked smile as she leisurely removed her jewelry and placed her wand on her nightstand. Casually hanging her heavy Durmstrang cloak by the door, she turned to greet her guests. They weren't altogether unexpected, after all.

"Hello, Albus, Igor." The Hogwarts Headmaster, frowned at the casual address, while Karkaroff cowered in the corner.

"Good evening, Miss Noir... or would you prefer Mrs. Lestrange?" Dumbledore replied coolly, his eyes holding none of their trademarked twinkle.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Lyra exclaimed, forcing a shocked look on her face. After a few moments, she couldn't hold her giggles back any longer. "Miss Noir is fine, though I wouldn't object to Bellatrix or Miss Black, either." The young woman easily slipped out of her role as Lyra Noir, letting the violent, seductive and slightly insane Bellatrix Black out to play.

"If I recall correctly, _Mrs. Lestrange_ , you're still married to Rodolphus. Azkaban doesn't break wedding vows, after all." The powerful wizard's icy gaze nearly froze her in place, but Bellatrix refused to let herself be intimidated. She reminded herself that she held all the cards.

"Oh, Albus. Let's not be petty, shall we? Besides, I think you'll find that I'm not, in fact, married to that buffoon."

"A divorce?"

Bellatrix smirked. "Of a sort." She noticed the wizened professor's eyes widen in alarm. "Relax. He's not dead... yet."

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss then, Miss Black."

"Well, it's a rather long story and it's been a busy day. Perhaps you should call again tomorrow?" Dumbledore's cold expression didn't change. "Oh, alright then. It's not like I have any pressing business to attend to in the morning. Where would you like for me to start?"

"I find that the beginning is always a good place to tell a tale."

"Really?" Bellatrix smirked. "Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much-"

"Let's begin with your escape from Azkaban," Dumbledore interrupted, unamused.

She couldn't hold back a laugh. "Alright then. Barty Crouch Jr broke me out of Azkaban. It was exceedingly simple. They needed someone on the inside of the tournament to insure Harry's survival and success."

"They?"

"Pettigrew, Crouch and the Dark Lord, of course."

"Voldemort lives?" Dumbledore asked, his face ashen.

Bellatrix smirked. "I'm getting there. Patience is a virtue, Albus." She could feel the Headmaster's delicious anger filling the room. "As I was saying, Barty broke me out using Mad-Eye's face and badge, along with a handful of Imperius Curses." Dumbledore looked to interrupt her again, but she continued regardless. "I soon learned that he'd done it on the Dark Lord's orders. You should have seen him. He was so, so proud. The Dark Lord, assuming that I was still his 'most loyal' servant, told me of a plan. A highly convoluted, pointlessly idiotic plan. It took all of my Occlumency and willpower to not laugh in his twisted face."

She poured herself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on her wardrobe. "He wanted me to infiltrate and enter Harry Potter into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I was then to guide the boy through all ten tasks, using the Dark Lord's servants to turn the Tri-Wizard Cup into a Portkey that would teleport Harry to the Dark Lord's location. Then, using Harry's blood, Riddle's bones, and Pettigrew's flesh, we were to return him to his body." Dumbledore stared in abject horror. "After all, the Cup would already be a Portkey, created by yourself, to take the victor to accept his fame and glory. All Crouch would have to do is volunteer to place the Cup, then change it's destination. It would still hold your exception to Hogwarts's wards."

"At least, that was the plan the Dark Lord told me. I didn't feel the need to ask him why he didn't simply have Crouch or Pettigrew kidnap Harry during one of his many Hogsmeade outings, but I digress." She clicked her tongue, smirking at the Headmaster. "Needless to say, I was unimpressed. Lacking any other options, I followed along with the Dark Lord's schemes. My job would be to infiltrate Durmstrang by threatening poor Igor. However, we both know that the Goblet of Fire cannot be lied to. I was neither a student nor in the proper age range. Besides, I doubt that the Dark Mark would have won me any friends with the Hogwarts staff."

"I had wondered how you hoodwinked the Goblet," Dumbledore mused. "It was the only thing that kept me from accusing you right away. I remember every student that has walked Hogwarts's halls during my tenure here. For a time, I had assumed that you were the daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus... until Ollivander told me about your wand this afternoon. After a discussion with Igor, I learned that you were indeed Bellatrix Black, and not her relative. I still don't understand how you used Polyjuice to appear as a younger version of yourself."

Bellatrix threw her head back, a deep throaty laugh filling the room. "Oh, Albus. I didn't trick the Goblet. I'm not using Polyjuice, either. My new, true name is Lyra Noir, I'm seventeen, and I'm currently enrolled at Durmstrang Institute."

"How?"

"The old families have their ways. The Blacks, for instance, have a tome of rituals so Dark that even Aunt Walburga would have wretched from their use. The one I used is called a Reincarnation Ritual. It sounds so much more pleasant than it is."

"I've never heard of it," Dumbledore frowned.

"I'm not surprised. No one has used it for centuries. It's quite repulsive, even by my standards. Would you like to know how it's performed?"

"Against my better judgment? Yes."

"First I needed sacrifices. One sacrifice needed to be a Pure-blood witch of the age I wished to become, in this case, seventeen. The other needed to be a close blood relative. Cousins, for instance," she smirked, reveling in Dumbledore's growing horror. "After you have your sacrifices all squared away, you draw the appropriate runes, say the proper words, and brew the proper potions. I won't bore you with the nitty gritty details."

"Then, over the course of three days, I had to slowly bleed out the Pure-blood witch while pumping her full of my close relative's blood. Normally such a thing would kill a person, but the ritual insured her survival. It looked quite painful, though; they both cried and begged for mercy the entire time. I can still hear their screams... Oh, the number of blood replenishing potions I had to fill my relative with. If they hadn't died from blood loss, they'd have surely perished from overdose." The Headmaster looked as though he either wanted to throw up or kill her, his expression morphing between nausea and rage. "Then, after all the little witch's blood had been filtered out of her system, to be replaced with strong, Black blood, I forced a concoction containing _my_ blood down her pretty little throat before drinking a similar potion myself."

"Finally, I placed my hands upon her chest and finished the ritual by forcing my magic into her young body. I had to make sure to give her every last drop or else it would have failed. As I felt the final dregs of magic leaving my body, I called out my new name. 'Lyra Aurora Noir!' I screamed for all to hear. The effort, of course, killed me. But while her immortal soul was utterly destroyed, mine found a new home inside of her then empty shell. As I awoke in my new body, I could feel it changing, morphing into the younger Bellatrix you see before you. If it's any consolation, the ritual can only be used once per soul."

"How... how could you?" Albus asked, stunned in his horror. "He was your cousin!"

Bellatrix laughed. "Cousin? Who said anything about me using my cousin? I only used _cousin_ as an example."

"What? I don't understand... you weren't speaking of Sirius?"

"Sirius _helped_ me, you fool." Dumbledore's gaze met hers, widened with disbelief. "The Dark Lord ordered me to find Sirius for the ritual, and it wasn't easy to track him down. Even when I did, he fought like a wild dog, and the longer we dueled, the less I wanted to kill him. I've always respected able fighters. So instead of ending his miserable life after his inevitable defeat, I enlisted him. I told him of the Dark Lord's plans, and he agreed to help me."

"Sirius would never!" Dumbledore shouted, his oppressive power filling the room as he stood in rage. "He'd come to me before consorting with you and participating in something so foul."

"He's not your biggest fan at the moment," she smirked. "Twice now you've left him to his own devices without a fair trial, not to mention leaving poor, innocent Harry with a bunch of filthy Muggles. Besides, I had access to something... or some _one_ he needed."

Understanding mixed with disgust filled Dumbledore's eyes. "Pettigrew."

"The very same. He'd help me, I'd help him, and together we would ruin the Dark Lord's return to power."

"Why would you turn against your Master?"

Bellatrix snarled, glaring at the old man. "The Dark Lord I followed died thirteen years ago. The one now claiming his name is foolish and obsessed with killing a teenager. He could have regained his body months ago if not for his obsession." Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Bellatrix leaned back on the bed. "Besides, foiling the Dark Lord was one of Sirius's conditions, though I'd have done it anyways. As long as he lives, I'll never be free."

"Free?"

"For the first time in my life, no one owns me. Not my parents, not Rodolphus, and not the Dark Lord. I'm young and beautiful with the world ripe for the taking. I have the knowledge and power of a witch more than twice my age, the body of a seventeen year old, and a name that isn't tainted with Dark Marks and madness. I have my whole life ahead of me."

"A life bought with the blood of innocents!" the Headmaster raged. His beard trembled and his eyes flashed menacingly.

"Innocents? You don't know Sirius very well, do you? Do you honestly think he'd have aided me in murdering an innocent girl, regardless of the stakes?" Bellatrix fought down a manic giggle. "Of course she wasn't innocent. I let Sirius find the girl. Apparently she was some Italian witch sentenced to death for murdering her entire family so she could inherit. She had seven older siblings, I'm told."

"And what relative did you use?"

"Sirius's mother, of course. Who'd have thought that old bat would still be kicking around Grimmauld Place? I say 'kicking around,' but she was actually on her death bed, still ranting and raving in her madness."

"Sirius let you murder his mother?" Dumbledore asked. The old man was shaking his head in disbelief. "You're lying."

"You really don't know him at _all_!" She laughed. "Of _course_ he did. He hated his mother. To be fair, he spent half of the ritual puking his guts out. He kept telling himself that it was all for Harry, to get him away from those filthy Muggles that have abused him."

"So after you murdered your aunt and a young girl, what did you do?"

"Siri and I went to pay the Dark Lord and his pet rat a little visit. Pettigrew was so easy to get out of the way. I wanted to kill him, but I'd promised Siri I wouldn't. The Dark Lord was even easier. He didn't even have a real body, just a homunculus held together by what little magic he could gather. You should have seen his impotent rage as my _Avada Kadavra_ destroyed him. He vowed to get his revenge with his last breath."

Despite himself, Bellatrix could see the Headmaster sigh with relief, though it was short lived. "I don't understand. If Voldemort is 'dead' once again, who entered Harry into the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

"I did, of course." Bellatrix mocked. "Sirius told me of how he drove off a hundred Dementors with a single Patronus Charm. I had to see what he was capable of. The potential power he possesses... I doubt even you or the Dark Lord would be able to match it." She shivered with excitement. "So while Sirius plotted to ensure his freedom, which I'm sure we'll read about in the _Prophet_ any day now, I went along with the Dark Lord's original scheme. I used the Imperius Curse on poor little Igor, forcing him to accept me as a transfer student, then having him forbid anyone but Viktor Krum and myself from putting their names in. Of course, a second Imperius ensured that I was the only Durmstrang student available. While I had little doubt that the Goblet would choose me over some Quidditch player, one can never be too careful."

"Meanwhile, I had Barty, who still has no clue that the Dark Lord is 'dead,' assist me in tricking the Goblet into accepting Harry as the only entrant of a fourth school, thus ensuring that _he_ would be entering the tournament. Of course, all it took was one of his Defense essays, a few tweaks, and little brute force. I hadn't planned on the Goblet changing Harry," she smirked, licking her lips. "But I can't argue with the results. He's even more powerful than before. Every time I'm near him, I can feel it, all that magic roiling just beneath the skin. It's all I can do not to jump his tall, muscular body and ride him until he breaks. I'm going to enjoy my time with him so much more than I had thought."

Dumbledore stood, his anger swelling once again. "Do you honestly believe that I'll allow you to ever come near him again? That I'll let you sink your venomous fangs into that boy?"

Bellatrix grinned. "Of course I do."

"You're mad," the Headmaster declared, drawing his wand. "I've heard enough. Both you and Barty Crouch are going back to Azkaban where you belong."

"Oh, I don't think so," Bellatrix smirked, mocking him with a little sing-song voice. "Cause I have something you need."

"There's nothing you can offer me that will cause me to betray Harry. You can't avoid your fate." The professor raised his wand, ready to incapacitate her.

"Not even a piece or two of the Dark Lord's soul?" Dumbledore paused and Bellatrix couldn't hold back a giggle. "I have the locket and the cup, Albus. I can see from your face that you know what they _truly_ are. If you arrest me, you'll never find them. I've hidden them in a deep, dark hole so random and obscure, they'll never again see the light of day without my help."

The Headmaster slumped back into his chair, gazing at the witch with pure hatred. "How did you find them?"

"The Dark Lord entrusted Hufflepuff's Cup to me. It's been sitting at Gringotts for the past fourteen years. I was always his 'most loyal,' so surely you can believe that?" The Headmaster nodded, defeat and grief filling his blue eyes. "And as for the locket... I knew that the Dark Lord had approached cousin Reggie around the same time he gave me the cup. Knowing Reg's fondness for Kreacher, the family's House Elf, I merely had to ask the little beast about Reg before he broke down and told me some sob story about a cave and a potion. After I finally got the wretched thing to calm down, promising I'd see to the locket's destruction, the elf walks over to an old cabinet and whips it out!" Bellatrix giggled again, unable to contain her glee. "Can you imagine? A shard of the Dark Lord's soul sitting next to Aunt Walburga's fancy china! Do you want to know the best part?" She leaned forward, a wicked glint in her violet eyes. "I killed him before he could even give it to me! After all, if he would so willingly tell me about it, what's to stop him from telling someone else like cousin Siri?"

Dumbledore buried his face in his hands. "I could use Veritaserum or Legilimency to find out where you've hidden them," he stated, though Bellatrix couldn't discern any true intent in his voice.

"Oh, Albus. You should know that the Dark Lord wouldn't entrust his soul to anyone who couldn't protect them. You'll find the Imperius Curse to be similarly useless. You could always try torture," she offered, grinning. "I've grown fond of the Cruciatus Curse. For the others, it was a punishment, something to avoid at all costs. I was rewarded with the Dark Lord's Cruciatus after every... successful... mission. He'd ravage me while he did it. I can still feel the pleasure mingling with ultimate pain. I wonder what yours feels like?" She stood, padding over to him, kneeling before the Headmaster. "What do you say, _Professor_? Do you want to make me scream?" She shivered in anticipation, licking her lips at the thought.

A flash of white light sent her careening away, crashing roughly against her wardrobe. "That's enough!" Dumbledore shouted, his wand pointed at her face, its tip glowing with a familiar green light. For a long moment, they stared at each other, before the Headmaster slowly lowered his wand. "What do you want?"

Bellatrix sobered, all trace of predatory madness gone. "An Unbreakable Vow. You swear to keep my secrets and to not interfere with me or my plans for Harry, and I swear to give you the Dark Lord's Horcruxes."

"I'll agree to the first, but not the second," Dumbledore said after a moment of indecision.

Bellatrix glared. "Then you'll only get one Horcrux. Come Albus, won't you consider the Greater Good?"

Icy blue eyes met her own. Neither spoke, communicating silently with their eyes. A war of wills was fought between them, a battle Bellatrix was sure she'd win. He had so much more to lose than she did. She was risking a stint in Azkaban. The Headmaster was wagering the future of the Wizarding World. Finally, the old wizard caved. Sighing, he sat heavily back into his chair. "What are your plans for Harry?"

Bellatrix grinned, failing to stifle a giggle. "That would be telling."

"Will you kill him?"

"Of course not!" Bellatrix smirked. "That would be such a waste of talent."

A tear trickled down the Headmaster's weathered cheek. Gone was the powerful wizard who could destroy armies in a single spell, replaced by a tired old man who had sacrificed too many friends in too many wars to go back now. "Fine. You'll have your Vows."

The Dark witch couldn't help but laugh, clapping her hands together like a child. "Goody! I knew you'd see it my way." She turned to Karkaroff, who was still huddled in the corner, shaking. "Igor, dear, you need to witness the Vows." The older man didn't respond. "Karkaroff! Now!"

He stumbled over to them, quivering while drawing his wand. For a moment, Bellatrix wondered if she'd gone overboard with the fear tactics. The poor man could barely function in her presence. "I hope you don't mind going first Albus," she said, turning her attention back to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster glared. "Not at all, Miss Black."

"Ready, Igor?"

Dumbledore reached out an arm that she grasped roughly. "Do you, Lyra Aurora Noir, Vow to give me Hufflepuff's Cup and Slytherin's Locket within an hour of this Vow?"

"I do." A wreath of flame erupted from Karkaroff's wand, writhing around their joined arms. "Do you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Vow to not reveal my secret? You will not speak of it, allude to it, imply it, or even write it down unless they already know?"

"I do." A second wreath of flame joined the first.

"Do you Vow to never intentionally disrupt my plans and activities with Harry James Potter? That you will never intentionally try to turn him against me?"

Dumbledore hung his head, tears streaming freely down the cracks and crags of his wizened face. "I do." A third flame erupted from Karkaroff's wand. All three twisted and weaved around their hands.

"So mote it be." Bellatrix said, grinning. Dumbledore said nothing for a long moment, staring intently at the Vows encompassing their hands. "Come on, Albus. I don't have all night."

"So... mote it be."

Bellatrix felt the the pull on her magic as the flames sunk into their skin. She'd expected it to burn, and couldn't help but be disappointed when all she felt was a slight tingle. Dumbledore was left kneeling on the floor while she stood, crossing the room to her wardrobe. Giggling to herself, she pulled out a designer purse and tossed it at the surprised Headmaster. "There you go! Oh, Albus... don't look at me like that. I didn't lie to you. That purse is deep and certainly dark, and there's only thirty of them in the world, so it's definitely obscure. And what's more random than a purse?" The Headmaster said nothing, but she could see the silent sobs wrenching his thin frame. She snagged her wand from the nearby nightstand, pointing it at Karkaroff. " _Obliviate! Imperio!_ " Karkaroff's eyes glazed over.

She strode towards the door, fastening her fur-lined coat about her shoulders. "Where... where are you going?"

"Well, there's a Death Eater who knows a lot of my secrets masquerading as a Defense Professor. He's outlived his usefulness, so I've scheduled him for a sudden case of deadness. I'd hate for him to miss his appointment." For a moment, it looked as if Dumbledore was going to stop her. "Ah, ah, ah... Me being dead or incarcerated would definitely disrupt my plans for Harry."

The Headmaster hung his head, all fight leaving him. Bellatrix stroked his long silver hair like one would a family pet. "Good boy. I trust you can let yourself out?" She crossed to the door, turning back to the old man. "Leave the purse."

Albus Dumbledore's muffled wail of anger and grief was music to her ears. As her heels clicked against the wooden decks of Durmstrang's ship, Bellatrix easily slid back into the role of Lyra Noir. Lyra allowed a broad smile to spread across her beautiful face and started humming softly to herself.

All in all, it had been a very good day.

 **A/N: I hope that I did Bellatrix justice. The ritual she used was of my own creation, and I'm hoping that it's not too far out there. Let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter Four

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: Well, if you've made it past what's sure to be a very controversial third chapter, I'm happy you're still here. Thanks for all the reviews! I'm overwhelmed by the positive feedback I've been getting for this story. Sadly, there's too many for me to respond to all of them, but I'll get to as many as I can. If I don't get to yours, I apologize, but if I answered every review we'd have about two pages worth replies. I appreciate all of them, however, and don't think that just because I didn't answer yours that I'm not grateful for your input.**

 **Samain96: I don't do multiple pairings. Never have, never will. I'm not saying that a wild night can't end up with a couple partners, but 3+ people in a relationship seems kinda out there. I'm glad you like Bella.**

 **Magitech: I agree, as you'll see towards the end of the chapter. I've always rolled my eyes about how the Light wizards throw out Stunners in response to Killing Curses.**

 **Hotkillerz: Harry is not seventeen. He looks seventeen, he acts seventeen, but he's still fourteen in the eyes of the law. So he's not going to get access to his family vaults right away. His trust vault has more than enough and is regularly replenished.**

 **Guest: I always considered Bella as a character that was drawn to power. In canon, she meets Riddle, a powerful wizard who espouses the racist bigotry that she was raised with and follows him to the end. After she gets freed from Azkaban, Riddle is once again at full strength. However, I think that if she'd watched a Riddle drinking snake venom from a bottle while being cradled by Peter Pettigrew that a lot of her illusions would be shattered.**

 **Boban094: Cedric is a key character in this story, acting as a sort of mentor and close friend to this older Harry. Bella's identity will be revealed in due time, and shit will really hit the fan, as you can imagine.**

 **Chapter Four**

Harry awoke late, his head pounding, though not from Goblet induced dreams. "I'm never drinking again," he mumbled, the light from his bedside window piercing through his skull, spearing into his brain. He turned over with a loud groan, wishing he had something to ease his aching head. If he wasn't so hung over, he'd trudge to the Hospital Wing for a Pain Relief Potion, but the thought of standing made his stomach churn. After a moment, he realized that he now had 'people' for that.

"Dobby," he croaked, his dry tongue stumbling over the word. The loud _crack_ announcing the House Elf's arrival made the young boy want to cry.

"Master Harry called for Dobby?"

Harry immediately regretted calling for the Elf. Dobby's shrill voice hit him like a thousand hammers. "I need aspirin, Dobby. Aspirin and water." A pair of _cracks_ later, and the small elf was shoving a bottle of Muggle pain relievers and a glass of water into his outstretched hands. "Thanks. You're a good elf." He decided that he didn't want to know where Dobby had gotten the pills.

"Anything for Master Harry!" The House Elf squealed, delighted with the praise. The young wizard swallowed four of the Aspirin, washing them down with the entire glass before refilling and draining it again. He flopped down on the bed, waiting for the pills to take effect.

After a brief doze, he started to feel more human and less like a moving corpse. Finally deciding to get up, he opened his eyes to see a pair of large green eyes inches from his face. Shouting in surprise, Harry recoiled backwards, resulting in an embarrassing tumble to the floor. "Master Harry! Are you alright?"

"Merlin's beard, Dobby! I almost pissed myself! Don't ever do that again!"

There was no answer for a long moment while Harry nursed a throbbing elbow. "Do you want Dobby to punish himself?" The elf said, peeking his head around the corner of the bed. His bat-like ears drooped, and unshed tears watered his too-large eyes. It was arguably the most pitiful sight he'd ever seen.

"No," Harry replied, sighing. "Just... don't sneak up on me like that, okay? It's creepy."

"Is Dobby still a good elf?" His high-pitched voice was barely audible as he gazed at the floor.

"Of course you are," Harry found himself saying, unable to shatter the little guy's heart. "You're the best elf in the world."

"Thank you Master Harry!" Dobby squealed, perking up immediately. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No... wait," Harry said, a sudden idea striking him. "You know the castle really well, right?" The elf nodded enthusiastically, his giant ears flapping. "Do you know of anyplace I can practice a whole bunch of spells without anyone bothering me?"

"Dobby knows just the place! Come, Dobby shows you!"

The little elf tried to grab his hand and drag him out of the empty dormitory, but Harry resisted. An image of himself being drug by a House Elf through the Gryffindor common room and around the castle was mortifying just to think about. "Why don't you tell me where it is, and I'll meet you there?" He suggested.

Dobby nodded, seemingly alright with the arrangement. "It's on the Seventh Floor, by the troll curtain!"

Harry had no idea what the 'troll curtain' meant, but he could understand 'Seventh Floor' easily enough. "Okay. I'm going to shower and grab some breakfast. I'll meet you on the Seventh Floor by the 'troll curtain' in an hour, alright?" Dobby nodded enthusiastically, disappearing with a snap of his fingers. Harry had the distinct impression that the House Elf would be waiting on the Seventh Floor the entire time just in case his Master decided to show up early.

Shrugging, he decided it wasn't his problem. He hadn't asked for the nutty little blighter, so he wasn't going to feel bad if the Elf decided to go above and beyond the call of duty to impress him. Instead, he gathered his bathroom bag from his trunk and headed up towards the boys' bathroom. Blushing when the mirror showed Lyra's smudged lipstick on his cheek, he got ready for the day. After a quick shower, he dressed himself in a pair of jeans and one of his new jumpers. It was the weekend, so he wasn't required to wear robes.

Descending down towards the common room, a familiar head of red hair stopped him short. Ronald Weasley was playing chess with Seamus Finnegan, and, judging by the pieces left on the board, he was beating the Irish boy soundly. It struck him for a moment just how young he looked. After spending a day hanging out with people his age... or people who looked as old as he did, it was a little weird to come face to face with the youthful Ron.

Looking up from his game, Ron stared at him, his brown eyes unreadable. The common room, which had been bustling with activity just moments before, fell silent, save for Hermione scratching notes with her quill. "Hey," the redhead finally said.

"Hey," Harry replied, unsure of Ron's mood. "Wanna grab some breakfast?"

"I already ate."

"When has that stopped you before?" Harry asked wryly. The stares were becoming unbearable. It seemed that the entire Gryffindor House was watching a tennis match, their attention shifting between the two.

"Fair enough," Ron said with a shrug, and the entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. Harry had the unshakable feeling that a bomb had just been defused. He finished his trek down the stairs and met his oldest friend at the bottom, both grinning like idiots. Hermione let out a long suffering sigh before closing her book and joining them, her bushy hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

"Oi!" Seamus called indignantly. "We're in the middle of a game!"

"Checkmate in two," Ron called back, grinning. The Irish boy studied the board, trying to figure out how he could have lost in two moves. "It's actually checkmate in three," he whispered conspiratorially, and Harry let out a short bark of laughter.

"Well?" Hermione asked, one hand on her hip, the other toting around her Arithmancy book. "Let's get going."

The Golden Trio exited through the portrait hall, beginning the long journey to the Great Hall. "So... Harry," Ron said awkwardly. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "A lot's happened in the last couple of days and I'm trying to make sense of it all."

"I bet. I heard you got to spend a night on the town with Cedric and the two hottest girls in school!" Ron grinned, and to his credit, Harry could only detect a hint of jealousy. "Imagine my surprise when I wake up to see lipstick smeared all over your face."

"Ronald!" Both boys ignored Hermione's indignant outburst.

Harry grinned. "Last night was fun. Cedric is really cool, and the Lyra and Fleur were not what I expected."

"What do you mean, 'not what you expected,'" Hermione asked.

"Well, Fleur is, in a way. She's kind of snobby, to be honest," Harry replied. "Only the best for the Part-Veela Princess." Ron grunted. "Sorry, mate, but I think Cedric's got you beat. He was laying it on the entire night, and she just lapped it up."

"I never really expected her to notice me," the redhead defended. "It's not my fault that I'm in love with the most beautiful, unattainable girl in the world." Harry privately disagreed. He found Lyra's violet eyes, dark hair, and full, crimson lips to be far more beautiful than Fleur.

"She's not _that_ pretty," Hermione said. "Sure, she has a pretty face, but I bet that she's not all that bright."

"I don't know about that," Harry shrugged. "You should have heard her debating Magical Law with Ced, and his mom's a solicitor. She took him to task." Hermione huffed, but didn't argue. "Anyways, we ended up having dinner, drinking a little bit, and came back to the castle. Nothing inappropriate, I swear."

"Drinking, Harry?" Hermione chided. "You know you're still technically underage, right?"

"Well, I figured that since I'm apparently old enough to risk my life over and over again for the amusement of the masses that a few glasses of Firewhiskey with friends wouldn't be too much to ask," Harry defended. "Anyways, what was I supposed to do? I was sitting there with the most popular guy at Hogwarts with two unbelievably beautiful young women. I'm sure that asking for a Butterbeer or a soft drink?"

"What's a soft drink?" Ron asked.

"It's a Muggle thing. It makes pumpkin juice look utterly disgusting."

"And the lipstick?" Ron teased, grinning as the trio trekked down one of the moving staircases. All three of them automatically hopped over the second to the last step. Three years of ending up knee deep in illusory stone had them well trained. "I'm guessing that was courtesy of the ravishing Miss Lyra?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Harry evaded.

Ron's grin grew. "But there _was_ kissing. Do you _luuuurve_ her?" Harry blushed a deep crimson, but was saved having to answer by arriving in the Great Hall. "Second breakfast!" Ron shouted, jogging towards the Gryffindor table. Hermione shook her head but followed. Harry meant to go with his friends, but Cedric was waving him over to the Puff's table. He and the other Champions were sitting at the very end, segregated from the rest of Hufflepuffs.

After a moment of indecision, Harry held up one finger, letting Cedric know he'd join him in a moment before sidling beside his best friends. "I think there's some Champion thing going on, so I'm going to have to make this quick," he muttered, his voice low. "Something's happening to me. I'm remembering things I shouldn't, spells I never learned. I can cast most of them without the incantation."

"Are you serious?" Hermione gasped, leaning in.

"No, that's my godfather," he smirked, earning himself a playful swat on the arm. "I can show you." Eyeing, the book in Hermione's hands, he stole a sheet of parchment and a quill from an indignant Katie Bell. He quickly scratched out a Fourth Year Arithmancy equation from memory, sliding it over to a frowning Hermione. "Check page 246 in your book."

She did as she was told, flipping over to the requested page. "Wait... you solved an equation from memory without even looking up the proofs in the book?"

"Weird, right?"

"Have you ever even opened an Arithmancy book?" Hermione asked, getting slightly red in the face.

"That's the thing! I haven't! I could do the same thing for every single textbook for every class all the way through Seventh Year." He failed to notice Hermione's growing ire. "They're all there in my head. Every spell, every equation, every rune, every creature."

"Cast a Color-Change Charm," the brunette demanded forcefully, pulling her hair loose from its pony tail and slamming the hair tie down on the table. Ron slid away, shoving a heaping pile of eggs into his mouth, obviously wanting no part of this. "Come on, Harry. 'Every spell,' remember? Cast a Color-Change Charm."

"Any preference?" The Color-Change Charm was a relatively simple Fifth Year spell that showed up on the O.W.L.s pretty often.

"Surprise me," she said acidly, her eyes narrow. Shrugging, he did as she asked, pointing his wand at the hair tie. A small red beam of light shot from the end of his wand, and the hair tie swiftly shifted from Gryffindor red to Ravenclaw blue.

"Satisfied?" Harry asked. not really getting what her problem was.

"Unbelievable," she replied, shaking her head and staring at her now blue hair accessory. "Un-fucking-believable." She snatched the offending accessory and chucked it in his face before storming out of the Great Hall. Harry was stunned. He couldn't think of a single time in over three years that the proper, rule-following bookworm had dropped the f-bomb.

"Girls, am I right?" Ron asked, staring after her. "Listen, I'm going to go calm her down. I'll chat with you later, okay?" Harry nodded, still slightly stunned by the exchange. The redhead clasped a hand on his shoulder. "It was really good to see you again, mate. Sorry I haven't been there for you the last couple of days."

"It's alright," he replied. "We've been busy."

"I was avoiding you, to be honest," Ron said guiltily. "I was really jealous for awhile, but after thinking about it, I realized that you'd have never asked for any of this."

"I appreciate it. You're a good friend."

"You, too."

Sighing, Harry heaved himself from the Gryffindor table, walking a few feet, then sitting heavily beside Lyra across from Cedric and Fleur. "What was that all about?" Cedric asked, watching Ron walk out the doors after Hermione, the _Daily Prophet_ sitting forgotten in front of him.

"Honestly? I haven't the slightest clue."

"I find zat 'ard to believe," Fleur chimed in, delicately picking at her egg whites and toast. "She seemed rather upset."

"I don't know what got her going, really. I was showing her a couple things I'd picked up recently and she went absolutely bonkers," Harry defended.

Cedric raised a brow. "That's the know-it-all, right? Top of her year in everything? Spends all day, every day buried in books?" Harry didn't like his terminology, but nodded. "She might be upset that after three years of 'slacking mediocrity,' to quote Snape, you finally caught up to her so easily."

"I guess," he replied, frowning. That would make a lot of sense. Hermione had worked really hard all her life to learn everything she could, and here comes Harry, learning everything she knows in less than a week. He'd have been upset too, in her shoes.

"Something to think about," Cedric shrugged.

"Enough about her," Lyra said after slowly pulling her spoon from her mouth. Harry followed the motion with single-minded focus. Only Lyra could turn eating yogurt into an erotic display. "Show him the article."

"Right!" The older boy slid his a small pamphlet across the table.

"What am I looking at?" Harry asked.

"That is 'The Tournament Information Pamphlet.' T.I.P, for short."

"Wizards and their acronyms," Harry muttered, flipping open the pamphlet. "Whoa... this is a lot more detailed than I thought it would be." He read the brief tournament overview before groaning. "That stupid Boys of Hogwarts moniker actually stuck?"

"Apparently so," Cedric grinned. "Us Boys of Hogwarts have to stick together!" A couple of Hufflepuff boys down the table cheered their assent.

"Keep looking, it gets better," Lyra scooted closer, turning a page in the pamphlet, her hand brushing his. "We each have our own section, with a short biography, picture, and a short statement from our Headmaster. The other page has all of our strengths and weaknesses, rated out of ten, then a final score."

What is this, a betting guide?"

Fleur laughed. "You catch on quick! It took me ten minutes to figure zat out."

"My scores suck!" Harry complained. "Look at this! Enchanting? One. Charms? Three. Only a four in DADA? I can cast a freaking corporeal Patronus at fourteen! I killed a basilisk, for crying out loud!" The others laughed. "I'm serious! The only scores I have over five is an eight in 'Flying' and a nine in 'Physical fitness!"

"It's okay, sweetie," Lyra giggled. "We can team up. You can be the brawn, I'll be the brains and beauty. I'll even let you carry heavy things. It'll be like having my own pet gorilla."

"But only if 'e behaves," Fleur smirked. "If not, you take him back to ze zoo."

Lyra threw her hand over his ears. "Quiet! He'll hear you!" Harry blushed slightly at her touch, but managed keep his cool. "Do you know how hard it was to train him? He's a slow learner."

"Ha, ha," Harry replied. "You'll see. You'll all see."

"What's that?" Cedric asked, feigning confusion. "Does Jimbo want a banana?"

"You're one to talk, Cedric," Fleur said, rounding on him. "A five in Defense Against the Dark Arts? 'Arry has two years less schooling. What's your excuse?"

"A new, incompetent teacher every year? I can only think of two that really knew what they were doing."

"Mad-Eye and Lupin," Harry filled in the blanks.

"Exactly. The rest have been utter garbage. Quirrel twice, Gibbons, and Lockhart," Cedric counted off on his fingers, before turning to Harry. "Honestly, we should really be worse off than we are."

"Even Mad-Eye's freaking nuts. Do you know how many times he put me under the Imperius Curse? Seven. Seven times."

"Wait... why would he do that? He only did each of us once," Cedric said, frowning.

"I resisted the first time," Harry shrugged, noting that he'd caught Lyra's attention. "He tried to make me jump on the desk, and I decided that sounded like a stupid thing to do. Ended up trying to jump and not jump at the same time and busted my kneecaps. By the fourth time, I was able to throw it off completely." As he finished, he flushed beneath the hungry look that Lyra was giving him. When she caught him looking, she quickly turned away, though her face remained flushed.

"Zen why would he 'ave you do it seven times?" Fleur asked.

"He wanted to make sure that it 'stuck,' according to him."

"Still, it's pretty impressive that you can ignore Mad-Eye's Imperius," Cedric chimed in, buttering a biscuit. "No one in my year did it. We all danced away to his merry tune. Seems like we both have quite a bit of work to do if we want to win this thing."

"When you put it that way, I have to agree." He figured he should get to practicing... then remembered Dobby. He'd told the House Elf he'd meet him over a half hour ago. He could picture the little bugger standing in the middle of the Seventh Floor, his massive eyes glued to the staircase. "Well, I hate to cut and run, but I got places to be. I'll catch you guys later."

"Later," Cedric said. "We should meet up for dinner... say seven o'clock?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you all then." Cedric and the ladies waved their farewell, and Harry quickly ducked out of the Great Hall and practically dashed up to the Seventh Floor. He nearly knocked over a Ravenclaw First Year, but managed to catch the poor kid at the last second. Sure enough, when he reached the Seventh Floor, Dobby was staring at the landing in earnest.

"Master Harry Po- Master Harry!" Dobby squealed , almost messing up in his excitement. "Dobby was worried and was about to go looking for you!" Deciding that being hounded by a House Elf was not a good idea, Harry resolved to never leave his employee waiting in the future. Who knows what damage the blighter could do? Memories of regrowing his entire left arm caused him to shiver. "Is Master Harry cold? Was he late meeting Dobby because he needed an extra sweater?"

"No, Dobby. I just got held up. Thanks for waiting," he said.

The House Elf shook his head wildly. "It is no problem at all, Master Harry! Dobby feels honored that he gets to wait for such a kind Master." If he wasn't careful, Harry was sure that the elf would start humping his leg at any moment.

"Uh... Yeah. Thanks, Dobby." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "So, where's this room?"

The elf grabbed Harry's hand and drug him down the corridor. It was a rather uncomfortable position because of the height difference, but thankfully it was a short walk. Dobby eventually stopped in front of a tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, a foolish bloke who'd made the mistake of thinking he could train trolls. Finally realizing what Dobby meant by 'troll curtain,' he turned to the opposite wall. There was nothing there.

"Uh... are you sure there's a room here?" he asked.

Dobby nodded. "We calls it the Come-and-Go Room, but wizards say 'Room of Requirement!' All Master Harry has to do is pace three times, thinking hard of what the Master needs, and the Room will appear!"

The Muggle-raised part of Harry was highly skeptical. A room that could read your mind and give you what you wanted? It seemed pretty out there, even for Hogwarts. Then again, there was also a dead basilisk hidden beneath a girl's bathroom, so he guessed he should just shut up and do what Dobby said. But what did he want? A room to train, for one, but what did he want to train? More importantly, what was he training _for_? Certainly not the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He had every scrap of knowledge that any Seventh Year could hope for, so he was arguably pretty well off, regardless of his T.I.P scores.

A high, cold laugh echoed in the back of his mind, the same laugh that he heard every time a Dementor tormented him with is parents' deaths. Voldemort. The Dark Lord was far more advanced than a Seventh Year student. Harry held no illusions that Lord Voldemort would someday return to power, and the young man needed to be ready. That's what he needed to train for, but he didn't really know where to start. Voldemort was supposedly as powerful as Dumbledore, if not more so. He'd heard Malfoy once call the Dark Lord the ultimate Slytherin, filled with cunning, ambition, and power.

Well, there was more than one Hogwarts house. If the Heir of Slytherin wanted to come after him, he'd just become the ultimate Gryffindor. Grinning, Harry paced in front of the patch of wall that Dobby had indicated, thinking hard about his need to become the best example of Gryffindor. To his surprise, a large, ornate crimson set of metallic double doors warped onto the wall. They were easily twice as tall as he was, reaching all the way towards the ceiling and decorated in gold filigree. Proud, golden lions twisted and stalked upon the their faces, though the largest was unmoving in the doors' center, its head thrown back in a mighty, silent roar.

"Wicked," Harry said, before turning to Dobby. "I appreciate the help, Dobby. I'll call you if I need you." The elf smiled brightly before snapping his fingers and disappearing with a _crack_. For a moment, Harry stared at the ornate doorway, anticipation building inside of him. He wondered what he'd find inside. Tentatively, he grasped one of the golden rings and pulled. Before his run-in with the Goblet of Fire, Harry doubted that he'd have had the strength to open the heavy door; it was several inches of solid, crimson steel after all.

Stepping inside, Harry found himself in a large hall, not quite as large as the Great Hall where students took their meals. Wide balconies lined the walls to his left and right, with stairs on either end providing access to the upper floor. Great pillars supported these balconies every ten feet or so, a crimson and gold set of armor standing guard at the base of each one, their armored gauntlets resting on massive swords. Books of all kinds lined the walls, shelves upon shelves of them, from the stone floor to the arched ceiling thirty feet overhead. In the center of the room, three concentric circles were embossed in gold into the floor. The room was well lite by a half dozen fireplaces and torches bracketed onto each of the stone pillars. It was magnificent.

At the far end, lit by merrily burning torches, Harry could see a great throne of gold, cushioned with red velvet, though there seemed to be something in the throne. It wasn't a person, and as the young Gryffindor strode nearer, he could tell that the throne's occupant was a portrait. "Who dares disturb my slumber?" A great, booming voice echoed within the hall as Harry stepped into the smallest golden circle in the center of the room. "Who dares desecrate the Hall of Gryffindor?

Harry suddenly felt meek, but forced himself to stand up straight. "It is I, Harry Potter."

To his chagrin, the voice just laughed raucously. "Step closer, boy." The voice called again, though it lost the echoed quality it originally held. "You should have seen the look on your face! Nearly wet yourself!" Harry, his ire rising, did as the voice commanded, striding briskly towards the golden throne. "I've waited a thousand years for that, and I'm so happy you didn't disappoint."

As Harry reached the foot of the dais that sported the throne and portrait, Harry was able to make out the man in the picture. To be honest, he looked like a skinnier, slightly older version of Hagrid. His hair was a deep auburn, and his bushy beard grew down to his muscular chest. Like the suits of armor in the hall, his hands rested on a sword, the hilt of which Harry recognized. A phoenix, so like the Headmaster's familiar, sat perched upon his shoulder. "You're Godric Gryffindor."

"Congratulations! You can read," the portrait chuckled. Leaning closer, Harry noticed the plaque at the bottom of the portrait naming its occupant.

"Well, yeah. But I just recognized the sword."

"Do you now? Seen it your textbooks?" Godric smirked. "You look like a shrimpy bookworm." Harry stared. Since his transformation, he was one of the tallest, more muscular students in the school. "Let me guess... you've never wielded a weapon in your life! You just go around, letting your wand do all the work!"

"No one uses swords these days," Harry defended. "And I used your sword once in my Second Year to kill a sixty foot basilisk."

The portrait laughed again. "This goblin-forged thing? Psshh. That wasn't my real sword, boy. It was a glorified ribbon cutter." He looked Harry up and down, appraising him. "So that was one. What were the other two?"

"What other two?"

"Your other two Acts of True Courage." Noting Harry's questioning gaze, the portrait frowned. "The only way to find this Hall is to be a student of my House who has completed at least three Acts of True Courage. Anyone else just sees a blank slab of stone. You didn't know?"

"No. I don't know if anyone even knows about the Room of Requirement to be honest, much less the Hall of Gryffindor."

Godric chuckled. "You mean to tell me you found this Hall on accident? You just happened to ask the right thing after meeting the right requirements?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess. The Heir of Slytherin is looking to make a return. He calls himself a Dark Lord and has killed a bunch of people. I figured that it would take the 'ultimate Gryffindor' to beat the 'ultimate Slytherin."

"What about the Order of the Phoenix?" Godric asked, his brow furrowed. "Why haven't the Knights of the Order put down this Dark Lord?"

"I've never heard of any Order of the Phoenix," Harry replied, shrugging. "Nor have I ever heard of any Knights in the wizarding world."

"Are they really gone? How could...?" Godric muttered to himself, before letting his dark eyes rest upon the young man before him. "Sit down. I'll tell you of the Order." A chair appeared behind Harry.

"Wait, how did you...? I didn't think that portraits could cast magic."

"The Room of Requirement does as its summoner bids," the portrait stated shortly. "But this room is linked to me. I command this Hall and everything in it. Now sit and listen."

"Long ago, nearly a thousand years before my birth, my ancestor Garon Gryffindor founded an Order of Knights, called the Order of the Phoenix, to battle the Black Legion of the Roman Empire. The Order wielded sword and wand in harmony, their stout shields able to block any Dark curse the Legion could cast. But though their armor was strong and their blades sharp, they still fell before the Legion. The Black Legion were highly skilled, very Dark wizards who slaughtered everyone in their path. Nations fell before their terrible might. The Order of the Phoenix was the first to give them a true fight. They were outnumbered a hundred to one, but they fought bravely, suffering devastating loss after loss, but still battled against all odds. Garon was killed by Claudius Aurus, who led the Legion. The Order was gradually pushed back to the Castle of Caledonia, where the Order of the Phoenix made its final stand."

"Fifty brave Knights, all that remained of the once proud Order, stood atop that stronghold, watching as the ten thousand-strong Legion closed in around them. They rained such hell upon their foes, but it still wasn't enough. The Legion broke through the gates, their Blasting Curses overwhelming the Order's wards, and they poured into courtyard. Those fifty Knights stood tall, their swords drawn, their wands arcing with powerful magic. The courtyard was small, and the Legion's massive numbers meant nothing. Again and again the Legion broke itself upon their shields, falling beneath their fiery blades and powerful spells. The ground grew muddy with the blood of the Legionnaires, their bodies piled high, but there was no end to them. The Knights fell, one by one, until only the Last Seven were left to continue the fight. "

"Finally, the Legion pulled back, and Claudius Aurus strode through them, his dark magic rippling with power. Gawyn, son of Garon, stood before his father's killer, before the man that would subjugate his people. The Legion and Order watched their battle, as sword met sword and shield met shield and wand met wand. Finally, Claudius fell to Gawyn's blade. Claudius's death broke the Legion's will, and they scurried away to lick their wounds. From that day forward, the seven Knights left standing made a solemn vow that never again would they suffer a Dark wizard to live. The Order roamed the known world, fighting back against the Darkness wherever they found it." Godric finished his tale with a slight flourish.

"Why can't we learn _that_ in History of Magic instead of the umpteen Goblin rebellions?" Harry complained. "That was awesome! I always knew Gryffindors were the best."

"I like you, boy," the portrait declared, smiling. Godric seemed to think something over. "Is the Order really gone?"

Harry nodded. "At least, I've never heard of it."

"I was once the Knight-Commander," Godric mused. "I slew more than a dozen so-called Dark Lords before retiring, returning to England and founding this school with my friends."

"So the Order didn't try to capture Dark witches and wizards?" Harry asked. "They just killed them?"

The portrait laughed. "Of course not. We were arbiters of justice, boy, not constables. Practitioners of the Dark Arts trembled at the mere mention of our name." Noticing Harry's frown, Godric scowled. "If we hadn't killed them, if we'd spared their wretched lives, then the blood of any future victims would be on our hands. We swore a Vow to destroy evil, one that we took seriously."

"So what did you consider Dark?" Harry asked. "What made you decide that someone had to be put down?"

"Besides the raping, torturing, and killing?" Godric asked, his deep voice dry. "There were three spells, reviled above all others. The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the _Avada Kadavra_. Merely casting those spells on another living being earned the caster a flaming sword through the heart."

"Why those? I've heard about some pretty Dark spells that seem just as bad."

"Don't get me wrong, boy. I executed several Dark witches and wizards who didn't use those Unforgivable Curses," Godric explained. "But those three leave a stain upon the soul of its user. Once you earn your cloak and become a fully fledged Knight, you'll understand. You'll be able to feel the vile Darkness enshrouding someone who's cast them. It's a terrible thing."

"My cloak?" Harry asked, not daring to hope that the portrait meant what he thought it meant.

"You came here to learn how to be the 'ultimate Gryffindor' and slay a Dark Lord, did you not?" Harry nodded. "Then this is the way. I warn you, though. The life of a Knight is rough, and filled with sacrifice. Our Vows are rigid and unyielding, our purpose pure and fraught with peril. Are you certain that this is what you want?" Harry nodded again, unable to speak. "Say the words, boy."

Clearing his throat, the young man stood tall. "I do," he spoke firmly and clearly.

"Then I, Godric Gryffindor, former Knight-Commander of the Order of the Phoenix, do hereby name you, Harry Potter, an Initiate in the Knightly Order of the Phoenix."

 **A/N: And that's Chapter Four! I know I'm playing fast and loose with the history of the wizarding world, but hey, it's my story.**

 **If you haven't realized, I'm kind of setting Bella and Harry up to be polar opposites. Will they come together? Will love conquer all? I guess we'll have to find out!**


	5. Chapter Five

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: Wow. Chapter Five already? 30K words in four days? I just can't stop writing this story.**

 **Hotkillerz: At this point, Harry isn't really worried about that. He'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. Right now he's focused on the tournament and getting stronger.**

 **Guest: I thought it criminal the way canon handled the other Champions. They had so much potential, but were just kind of left out to dry and then forgotten.**

 **Boban094: Check your PM box.**

 **Guest: Harry won't be needing Bella to become a badass. I think that putting her into a mentor role would hinder their relationship, not build it. Bellatrix's plans are not nearly as innocent as you seem to think. She's evil and enjoys hurting people. I'm not writing some watered down version of her character who secretly just wants to be loved. She has her agenda, and will stop at nothing to see it fulfilled.**

 **Zandaino-Nova-Ari: I'm having a LOT of fun with the OotP lore, as well. Writing it is nothing short of a blast. I plan on delving further into it in future chapters.**

 **Chapter Five**

"Now, there are seven steps to becoming a Knight of the Order of the Phoenix, in honor of the Final Seven at Caledonia." Godric said, stroking his bushy beard. "I've granted you the first one, based on your three Acts of True Courage, so you've earned your gauntlet. After you reach the next step, you'll earn the right to forge your sword, then your armor, bow, mount, shield and finally the cloak, in that order."

"Why wouldn't you get the shield earlier?" Harry wondered. "Wouldn't that come right after getting a sword?" The two seemed to go together, after all.

"Don't question me, boy. Your shield comes after your mount because a Knight must learn to fight without it! We don't rely on our shields, we use them when necessary. A Knight is an offensive warrior who attacks to protect others. His sword is his primary weapon. His armor is his main protection and comes next so you can get used to its weight. The bow allows you to attack from range. The mount is one of the most important stepping stones. Taming a Pegasus is no easy task, and it signifies that you're ready to learn the intricacies of our Knightly Vows. The shield will guard against any spell, and the cloak is your heraldry." The portrait took a deep breath, as if calming himself. "Now, tell me of your Acts of True Courage."

Harry frowned. "To be honest, I don't even know what they are."

"An Act of True Courage is putting yourself in harm's way to protect the lives of others from the forces of Darkness. They wouldn't be some paltry thing. You'd remember them clearly."

"Well," Harry said, thinking. "I guess fighting the basilisk would count, since I did it to save Ron's sister."

The portrait nodded. "Basilisks are Dark creatures," he said. "If I'd have known what Salazar had brought into my school..." Godric trembled with rage. "He was my best friend, once upon a time. Now, I can't even stand to think of him. What else, boy?"

"Ummm... In my First Year, I stopped Voldemort from getting the Sorcerer's Stone," Harry mused. "Would that count?"

"I don't know. Why did you do it?"

"If I didn't, he would have returned to full power and killed a lot of people," the young man replied.

The portrait nodded. "Then it counts as an Act of Courage. Next?"

"I guess it'd have to be the Dementors last year. We almost got Kissed, but I had to save my godfather and friends."

The portrait stroked his beard, ruminating over what he'd heard. "That counts. Tell me more; I want every detail." So Harry began. It seemed like he talked for hours, starting with his First Year, describing the quest for the Sorcerer's Stone and his run-in with the Voldemort-possessed Professor Quirrel. He spoke at length about his Second Year, how students had been petrified by some mysterious creature, eventually culminating in a battle against the memory of Tom Riddle and his pet basilisk. After that, he talked about the Shrieking Shack in his Third Year, Pettigrew's escape, and he and Hermione's adventure to rescue Sirius and Buckbeak from their unjust fates. Godric listened attentively through it all, sometimes asking for pertinent details. Finally, he spoke of his mysterious transformation courtesy of the Goblet of Fire and the ten perilous Tasks he'd be expected to compete in. The Founder seemed particularly interested in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, calling it a true test for his soon-to-be-developing skills.

"Enough talk. Carry me to the circle in the center of the room." Harry followed Godric's command, lifting the heavy portrait and carrying it towards the three golden circles. As he neared, a large stand sprouted from the floor just outside the largest circle. Knowing without being told that this stand was for the painting, Harry set Godric down. A rack of simple, blunted swords appeared before him, each of varying size. On top of the rack lay a leather finger-less glove with a peculiar slot in the bottom.

"Wield the gauntlet with your non-dominant hand," the Founder ordered. "Then link it to your wand."

Doing as he was told, Harry slid the leather contraption on his left hand. He briefly marveled as it sized itself perfectly to his forearm. Hard leather plates protected him from hand to elbow. To be honest, it kind of reminded him of his Quidditch leathers, though this was slightly less bulky. Looking closer, he noticed a phoenix stitched into the leather plate covering the back of his hand. "How do I link it to my wand?"

"Place it into the slot at the bottom. Flicking your wrist like so," the painting demonstrated the action. "will call it to your hand. Releasing your wand will return it to its proper slot." Harry practiced the movement several times. It went against every instinct he had to just let go of his wand and trust the gauntlet's magic to return it to its proper place.

He finally realized a major problem. "Uhhh... isn't this on the wrong hand?"

"No."

"But I use my wand in my right hand," Harry said. "That's how I cast all my spells."

"Not anymore, you don't. Your dominant hand holds your sword, your weapon against evil." Godric glared down at him. "Your wand is an auxiliary tool, so it gets relegated to the non-dominant hand."

"How am I supposed to cast spells with my left hand?" Harry was getting frustrated. "I've been casting with my right for years!"

"Practice. Until I say otherwise, you will cast spells, eat, drink, write, wipe your arse, and even jerk your gerkin with your left hand. You'll do so until I feel confident in your ability to use both hands interchangeably. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let me be very clear. A Knight rarely wields his wand. He is not a jack-of-all trades like a normal wizard, conjuring animals and flinging spells. He is an arbiter of justice, a slayer of Dark wizards. Your wand is a tool, something you use when the situation arises. Unlike before, it will not be your go-to form of combat. Your sword and bow will be your weapons of choice, your shield and armor will replace your measly Shield Spells."

"I understand."

"But do you understand _why_?" Harry shook his head. "Dark Curses, such as the Unforgivable Three, are by nature combative. They are destructive and lethal. Lighter spells are not. They stun or incapacitate, they bludgeon instead of pierce. As a Knight of the Order of the Phoenix, you are forbidden from casting spells crafted in Darkness. Your sword and bow will even the playing field, so to speak. You will counter Dark Curses with righteous, martial wrath instead of stooping to their level and fighting fire with fire. If you know any Dark spells, you will forget them immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then choose a weapon," Godric ordered, nodding towards the rack of swords. "Choose carefully; your choice will define your fighting style for the rest of your life."

Nodding, the young Initiate stood before the sword rack. They were by size, with the smallest being a dagger about as long as his forearm. The largest was truly a monstrosity, standing as tall as Harry himself. Part of him wanted to choose the giant blade, imagining himself sprinting into battle with a flaming great sword as large as a fully grown man, but he couldn't imagine actually swinging such a thing. The next was little better, still looking too cumbersome. A little bit down the rack, in the very middle, he noticed the classic long sword from all the fairy tales, and he was tempted to choose it due to this familiarity.

However, his gaze focused on another weapon. It was longer and slightly broader than the long sword, but definitely smaller than the two largest blades. It's hilt was elongated, but Harry was confident that he could swing it with one hand. Grinning, Harry had found his weapon. He grasped its leather-bound hilt and pulled it from the rack. He almost dropped it; the sword was a lot heavier than it looked.

"The bastard sword," Godric remarked. "A fine weapon. Able to be wielded comfortably with both the one- and two-handed grips. Fast enough to deflect spells, but with the length and weight to provide power behind its strikes. Difficult to learn, even harder to master." The portrait looked him up and down. "You're going to need to put some meat on those scrawny bones." A small chest rose from the floor at the base of the painting's stand.

"Inside that chest you'll find a handful of potions," Godric said. Harry opened it, confirming the portrait's statement. Half a dozen glowing red vials lay in a rack inside. A similar set of green vials sat beside them. "Drink one of the red ones every evening before bed."

"What do they do?"

"They'll maximize muscle gain, increasing the effectiveness of physical workouts by a factor of twenty. They should make you grow a few inches, as well." Harry grinned. He briefly wished that Muggles could imbibe potions. He'd make a slaying off professional athletes. Alas, without a magical core to interact with, potions were mostly toxic to Muggles. A few would have no effect, but the vast majority were lethal. "Don't forget to work out your entire body evenly while under their effect," the portrait warned. "Otherwise you'll end up lopsided. The green ones do the same for muscle memory, and you'll drink one every day before training. Normally, I wouldn't condone their use, as they're the easy way out, but we don't have the years that it'll take for you to build you up the normal way."

"Why not?"

"The Order of the Phoenix is dead. Dark Lords and their creatures roam free. The world needs the Order to keep evil at bay; we have no time to waste. Drink the potion." Harry nodded, chugging down one of the green vials. It tasted vile, but the young man forced himself not to gag. After he'd finished, one of the suits of armor leaped from its podium and readied its blade. "Let's get to work. Stand in the smallest circle."

Harry did as he was told, standing inside the smallest golden ring. "This circle is your world. Nothing exists outside it until I say so. Not the Dark Lord, not the Tri-Wizard Tournament. As you improve, you will move to the next circle and your world will grow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The next six hours were the most exhausting of Harry's life. Not even Oliver Wood's marathon Quidditch practices could come remotely close. Godric worked him through stance after stance, having him copy the animated armor's positioning over and over again. His critical eye noted every mistake, every flaw, correcting every bad habit before they could form.

After an hour straight of swapping between basic stances, the portrait moved on to basic strikes. One handed strikes, two handed strikes, retreating strikes, advancing strikes. Despite his complete unfamiliarity with a sword, Harry had little trouble keeping up. His muscles ached, but he enjoyed the physical activity. Wielding the bastard sword, while physically exhausting, felt more natural than anything else he'd done since joining the magical world, even flying.

After that, they worked on blocks. The suit of armor attacked him again and again, forcing him to use the stances he'd learned to defend himself. It was pretty amazing, seeing how the arbitrary stances were actually used in combat. The entire time, Godric kept shouting about his footwork. After a quick break for lunch, courtesy of Dobby, the painting took him back to the beginning, having him practice stances again. He was even more critical the second time around.

"That's enough," Godric finally called, causing Harry to collapse in a heap. "Get up. Time for your workout!"

"That wasn't the workout?" Harry complained from his spot on the floor. "I'm exhausted."

"I said get up!" the painting snarled, watching as Harry reluctantly pushed himself to his feet.

A set of heavy looking weights appeared outside the circle, and the young man groaned. The sadistic portrait took him through exercise after exercise, exhausting his poor arms even further, working his chest, legs, and back intermingled with about a thousand abdominal exercises of every kind. By the time the portrait said they were finished, Harry couldn't find it in himself to move. Every muscle in his body ached and burned.

"Good work, Initiate," Godric said, smiling. "You're a natural athlete. It's a solid foundation to becoming an excellent swordsman. It'll take hard work, but you've got talent." Harry groaned in reply. "Go, cleanse yourself and eat. Tomorrow, you'll wake at dawn and perform one hour of calisthenics before breaking your fast and coming here for further training. Wear appropriate clothes." The young man didn't bother to reply, rolling to his feet and shuffling towards the door. He'd barely made it halfway before the painting called after him. "You're forgetting something."

"What's that?" Harry asked. The suit of armor he'd trained with clanked forward with the small chest containing his potions. Harry took it with shaky arms.

"Remember, one red before bed and a green before coming here." Harry nodded, watching in fascination as the equipment he'd used throughout the day sunk back into the floor. The suit of armor carried Godric back to his golden throne. With a Herculean effort, the young Initiate managed to push the heavy doors open with his shoulder, closing them with his back. When he turned back around, the doors were gone.

Trudging back to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry ignored the odd looks sent his way by the students he passed. He knew he looked like hell, covered in sweat and wearing an odd bracer on his left arm, but he was just too tired to give a damn. If it weren't for his rumbling stomach, he'd have passed out on his comfy bed, but instead he basked under a scalding shower for a near half hour. He was almost finished before he realized that he could have just made the Room of Requirement turn into a freaking bathroom. He spent the next few minutes thunking his head against the wall, cursing his stupidity. He could have been eating with the other Champions by now.

Despite the fact that he was going to meet with the beautiful Lyra Noir, he went through only the smallest amount of effort to make himself presentable before redressing. A simple white t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and one of his new pairs of boots and he was ready to go. Remembering Godric's stern instructions that his gauntlet was to remain on his arm at all times, excepting bathing, he affixed the leather bracer to his forearm. He knew that it probably looked stupid, but he wasn't about to start disregarding the advice of Godric Gryffindor. A moment later, and he was trudging back through the portrait hole and heading for the Great Hall. He knew that he'd be a little late to meet Cedric and the others, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He wondered if every day would be this strenuous.

It took him forever to shuffle down to the Great Hall. He'd nearly forgotten the trick stair on the way down, but managed to remember at the last second. He was grateful, because he didn't think he had the strength to pull his leg free if it had sunk through. Finally, he entered the Great Hall, noting Lyra and the others sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table. He made a beeline straight for them, not even glancing at the Gryffindor table.

"Hey guys," he said, plopping down. "Sorry I'm late. What'd I miss?"

"You look like shit," Cedric commented as the younger Champion reached for a dinner roll. Harry only remembering at the last moment he was supposed to use his left hand. "What happened to you?"

"Training with a sadistic portrait," he replied, not going into detail. "How was your day?"

"Same old, same old," Cedric replied. "Did some reading on Defense in the library."

Lyra scoffed. "Please. What Hogwarts calls 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' is a joke." Noting Cedric's raised brow, she continued. "You don't 'defend' yourself against the Dark Arts, not really. You have your variety of Shield spells, but besides that you have a few basic jinxes and curses. If that's all you have to defend yourself with, you might as well just run away."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, awkwardly scooping potatoes into his mouth with his left hand. "What would you have us learn?"

"There's not much to learn," she countered. "Think hard... what have you really learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts? A handful of minor spells, a few specialized charms, like the Boggart Repelling Charm, and the rest is just recognizing creatures and Dark spells."

"Okay...?" Cedric seemed just as clueless as Harry. "What would you have them teach us?"

"At Beauxbatons, we learn combative curses zat your Ministry would consider Dark," Fleur intoned. "More zan just ze Stunning and Shield Spells. Piercing curses and ze like. I 'ave 'eard zat Durmstrang goes even further."

"Exactly!" Lyra exclaimed. "You have to fight fire with fire." Harry frowned. Godric had said something completely different earlier in the day, but the Initiate supposed that not everyone could wield flaming swords of justice. "What are you going to do if you get attacked by a group of Dark wizards, Ced?"

"I don't know," Cedric replied thoughtfully. "I guess Stun or Disarm them."

"And that's why you'd be dead," Lyra smirked. "Because they can revive each other faster than you can Stun them. If you're outnumbered, you're pretty much guaranteed to lose. However, if you broke their legs with Bone-Shattering Curse, you wouldn't have to worry about them coming back for round two."

"Or you could stab them with a sword," Harry offered, grinning. "That would probably work."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "That's a great plan. Only a bloody Gryffindor would think about bringing a sword to a wand fight. You'd be dead before you got halfway to them."

"Well, what if I had a magical sword that could deflect spells?" Harry teased. "And a shield that could block the _Avada Kadavra_?"

"And what if you were Merlin?" Lyra replied tonelessly. "Enough about stuff that's never going to happen."

"I don't know," Fleur smiled. "I could see 'Arry with a sword."

The Durmstrang Champion huffed, ignoring her blonde friend. "You know I'm right. That's why Durmstrang actually teaches Dark Spells and dueling, instead of the watered down crap you lot learn at Hogwarts." Harry could actually see her point. The Hogwarts curriculum left its students woefully unprepared for an encounter with Dark wizards. Maybe that's why the Order of the Phoenix was necessary. If there was a group of powerful Knights out there to take down Dark Lords, then everyone else could go about their lives. Thinking further, he realized that he could be that Knight. That way, no child would grow up orphaned because some prick decided he wanted more power. Apparently the Aurors weren't enough. Dark Lords laughed at Ministry Aurors. They wouldn't laugh at a Knight of the Order of the Phoenix.

"We get it, Lyra," Cedric grinned. "Durmstrang rules, Hogwarts drools." He turned to Fleur, who started talking about how Beauxbatons conducted their Defense training. Harry considered the the topic throughout the rest of meal. He strongly believed that everyone had the right to learn how to defend themselves, but a the same time, he didn't really think that Bone-Shattering Curses were appropriate to teach to children. Harry actually agreed with the Hogwarts curriculum over Durmstrang's, though he thought that the Beauxbatons approach was a solid middle ground.

"Walk me home?" Lyra said softly, her hand resting on his leather gauntlet. Her violet eyes were focused on his. His exhaustion fought a silent, but furious battle with his desire to spend more time with the beautiful older witch. In the end, his exhaustion lost, so Harry nodded and said his goodbyes to Cedric and Fleur, who had once again started debating magical law. Lyra slipped her dainty arm into his, leaning against his tall frame as they exited the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy was giving him a look of utter hatred, but Harry had neither the inclination nor energy to deal with his old rival. Their petty squabbles seemed rather childish, in retrospect.

"You agree with me, right Harry?" Lyra asked as they exited the castle and strode towards the lake. "We need to learn to protect ourselves. People like the Dark Lord aren't going to go easy on us."

"I do, to a point," Harry said. "I think that the average person shouldn't have to learn stuff like that if they don't want to. I mean, this is a school filled with children, not a facility to train an army."

The girl cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. Apparently, his answer had somewhat surprised her. "Then you'd abandon them to the mercy of the Dark Lord, unable to defend themselves?"

"I grew up in the Muggle world, remember," he reminded her, noting her scowl. "The average person doesn't need to know how to shoot a gun or use karate, or in the case of wizards, cast a Bone-Shattering Curse. But if someone wants to, I think they should be able to learn the Darker spells to protect themselves and their families. In fact, I don't think there's any problem with them learning and casting really any spell, as long as they don't use it to hurt innocent people. Well, except for the Unforgivables." Godric and Moody had made it clear that the Unforgivable Curses were, well, Unforgivable. "But I don't think that combat spells are necessary in a school. Hogwarts does it right, I think. Teach kids some simple self-defense and how to recognize trouble. I do think that adult self-defense classes should be available, if they're not already. There's specialized people to protect everyone else. "

"Like Aurors," she said dryly. They'd reached Durmstrang's plank-way, but the girl steered him off around the lake. The rising moon reflected off the water, its silver light contrasting with her raven hair. "Because they were so effective last time and against Grindelwald."

"Well, yeah, but not Aurors," Harry replied. "I mean, Aurors are fine and all against your average Dark wizard, but against someone like Voldemort? You need more. You need someone on his level. Someone who's job it is to take down Dark Lords before they have the chance to take over half the country."

"Someone like Dumbledore, then," she spat angrily, her violet eyes flashing in the moonlight. "Some paragon of virtue who sits in his ivory tower refusing to do anything."

"No. Dumbledore's a teacher. He's a powerful wizard, but he's also a pacifist, and that's okay. He's a good man, and the world needs pacifists. But thinking about it, I wouldn't want him leading the battle against evil. I could see him in an advisory role, helping the real 'general' understand and deal with his enemies, but he's too passive. Even the Aurors are too reactionary, only responding to Dark wizard attacks."

He paused, trying to think of how to describe the Order without giving it away. Godric hadn't told him that it was a secret, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted people to know, especially his competition in the tournament. "What if... what if there was a person, or group of people, who actively hunted down the bad guys, taking the fight to them? Someone who stormed their strongholds instead of waiting for them to attack? Someone who specialized in killing Dark wizards?"

That seemed to catch her attention. Her arm tightened around his, drawing her body closer as they continued their trek along the lake shore. "And who would this person be? You?"

"Why not?"

"It seems like an awfully dangerous vocation, and it doesn't sound like it'd pay very well," Lyra shrugged.

"I don't think it would be a vocation... more of a calling. A duty to the people."

"What do you owe them?" She asked, pulling them to a stop as her eyes narrowed. "Why risk your life without reward?"

"It's not about owing anybody, Lyra, and it's not about being rewarded."

"Then what is it about? Help me understand," she pleaded. The Durmstrang witch sat demurely on the grass with her legs curled beneath her. Harry was temporarily struck dumb by her beauty, but managed to get himself comfortable beside her. She leaned against him, her hand finding his.

Harry tried to put it in a way that she could understand. "You probably know that my parents were killed by Voldemort, right?" She nodded. "I never knew them. I didn't have any pictures of them until I came to Hogwarts, and my only memory of my parents is a Dementor-fueled nightmare of the night Voldemort murdered them."

"I'm sorry," Lyra replied. Her eyes were filled with empathy, and she ran a perfectly manicured hand along his hairline.

"No one should have to grow up without a family," Harry replied. "I get that accidents happen, and it sucks, but no one should be able to orphan kids at his whim. There will always be people who try, though. Maybe not here, or even across the majority of Europe, but did you know that pretty much all of South America is ruled by one Dark Lord or another? Africa and the Middle East is the same way. Eastern Europe gets its share, and the Yanks let Canada suffer under Lady Xendriss for decades. No one lifts a finger to help each other, fearing that they would be the next target."

"So you'd just travel the world, killing Dark Lords? What happens when you finally met your match?"

"Well, hopefully I'd show as much courage as the Last Seven," Harry replied steadily.

"Who?"

He shook his head. "It's not important. My point is, if I could spend my life making sure that as few kids had to grow up like I did, I'd consider it a life worth living. And I'd get to see the world."

Lyra snorted. "Hell of a life. Go someplace new, see the sights, meet new people, kill them for apostasy..."

"What?"

"That's what you're talking about, isn't it? Some leader uses Dark spells and is more strict than you'd prefer, so it's your job to hunt them down. What gives you the right? And after you kill this country's leader and her disciples, leaving their government and economy in shambles, you just continue on your merry way, telling yourself that you did the right thing." Harry didn't have an answer to that. "Or would you stick around for a few years, forcing them to restructure their entire government in a way you deem acceptable?"

"I don't know," He replied truthfully. "But I do know that what you call 'more strict,' I call raping, murdering and torturing all who oppose them. You say leader, I say oppressor who has the people living in fear with no rights." The longer he talked, the more sure he felt. "These 'disciples,' if they're anything like Death Eaters, are like the Nazi Germany SS, dragging 'undesirables' from their homes in the dead of the night and murdering them in the street." His emerald eyes flashed behind his glasses. "It's not my job to help build their economy or organize their government. I'll kill Dark Lords and Ladies and all of their followers, and leave the rest to the politicians. People like Dumbledore can follow along and clean up the mess. It's what guys like him do best. Hell, Dumbledore would probably condemn me for my methods while secretly applauding my results."

"And if the person that fills the void is even worse?"

"I'll kill them, too. I'll slay every Dark witch and wizard I can find, until the rest go scurrying back into the holes where they belong. I don't care if they're Pure-blood or Muggleborn, rich or poor. If they use Unforgivable Curses against another human being, I'll kill them and all their Dark friends. If they use the other Dark magic to oppress instead of in self-defense, I'll slaughter them like the animals they are." Lyra shivered beneath his burning emerald gaze. Harry wondered if he was saying too much and scaring her away, but he was too worked up to back down now. "I'll be an arbiter of justice. Someday, Dark Lords will tremble behind their pathetic masks at my approach. They'll be too scared to even whisper 'Harry Potter' amongst themselves, afraid that by merely speaking my name, I'll appear to strike them down."

Her violet eyes stared into his green ones for a long moment. He could see several different emotions conflicting across her beautiful face, before Lyra launched herself at him without warning. They tumbled into the grass, her astride him, long raven hair falling around them like a wild curtain of shadows. Her dark crimson lips crushed themselves against his, bruising in their intensity and passion. Her hands were everywhere, her nails scraping against his scalp, his neck, his chest; anywhere they could reach. She rocked her hips, grinding herself against him as she let out the most primal sounding moan he'd ever heard. He started to pull her closer before she pushed away, her hands clenching his shirt in tight knots. He couldn't see her face anymore, hidden as it was by the night and her dark hair.

"Sorry," she said, her voice husky. "I didn't mean to do that yet."

"Don't be," he replied with a grin. "I'm not complaining." She giggled, resting her head on his chest.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

Bellatrix sat at her vanity brushing her long hair absentmindedly. Harry had been different tonight, more focused. The difference that twenty-four hours made both worried and excited her. The night before, at the Hogshead, the boy had seemed like a naive, easily malleable child, starved for affection. Tonight, though, he'd spoken like a man with a purpose. She may not have agreed with his stated purpose, but it had been so intoxicating that she still flushed at the thought of his emerald eyes. Power had radiated from him in waves, and Bella had been unable to restrain herself.

She frowned at the memory, chiding herself for her lack of self-control. She'd allowed the Dark Lord's power to blind her to the man's glaring deficiencies and had lost herself in the process. She'd followed him without question, abandoning her pride and sense of self. She wouldn't allow Harry Potter's hypnotic magic to do the same. She knew that her lust for powerful people was one of her greatest flaws, but she refused to allow herself to fall into the same traps all over again.

She was Bellatrix Black, a proud Pure-blood witch. Why should she allow men like the Dark Lord and Harry Potter dictate how she lived her life? At the same time, there was no reason why she couldn't restrain herself in the short term. She didn't really need the Unforgivable Curses at this point in her plan. Karkaroff was well trained by now, Dumbledore was cowed, and everyone who needed killing was already dead. Let Harry and Sirius think that they'd tamed her. She was patient. They were both hurting from the many injustices they'd suffered, and all of their righteous anger was a crack in their defenses, one that she'd eventually be able to turn to her advantage.

Originally, she'd planned on using Harry's desperate need for affection to wrap him around her finger and bind him to her whim. She'd planned on giving him everything he'd ever dreamed of: a family to call his own. The fertility potions were already brewed, sitting in her drawer, just waiting to be drunk.

Afterwords, she'd have used his need to protect his new family to direct him at anyone who stood in her way. She'd even had thoughts of eliminating Dumbledore by planting the deception that the Headmaster planned to send their unborn child off to the Dursleys. She giggled at the thought. She'd save that idea for future use; it was too poetic to let go of just yet. Who knows? It could actually be true. Dumbledore had done far worse in the name of the Greater Good.

After tonight, she now knew that letting herself get knocked up wasn't the answer, or at least the only answer. She realized that young Harry may not be so easily manipulated. Something had changed. He'd somehow found a new goal, and while that dream didn't necessarily conflict with her ultimate plans for the powerful wizard, it was a definite setback in her efforts to enthrall and control him. She needed to find out what was driving him, and quickly. This new influence, whoever or whatever it was, needed to be eliminated. Harry was an integral part of her plans; the only voice she wanted whispering in his ear was her own.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

The following week followed the same routine. Harry would awake at the crack of dawn, bust as many push-ups and sit-ups as he could, then throw on some training clothes and run two laps around the lake. Every day it got easier. The potions and training regimen Godric had given him had been nothing short of miraculous. He was building muscle at an unbelievable rate. The clothes he'd purchased at Gladrags were already tight in the chest and shoulders.

The only problem, really, had been his glasses. The stupid things kept falling off his face whenever he started sweating. He'd ditched his workout one morning to fix this particular issue. Sure, he knew he wasn't supposed to Apparate to Muggle London and visit an optometrist, but what Dumbledore didn't know wouldn't hurt him. As far as the Headmaster knew, Harry had just been out for a jaunt into Hogsmeade. A quick eye exam later, and he'd walked out of the doctor's office with several boxes of brand new contact lenses. Poking himself in the eye was still pretty weird, but the Hogwarts females had seemed more than happy with the results. He'd received several compliments on his 'gorgeous eyes.'

After his workout, he'd eat a quick breakfast with the other Champions before downing one of the vile green potions and heading up to the Hall of Gryffindor. He'd moved on from basic stances and maneuvers to more complicated parries and counterattacks, before the painting had deemed him ready to start adding spells to his arsenal.

Casting with his left hand wasn't as fluid as he would've liked, but it still got the job done. Godric had set him against multiple opponents, forcing him to engage one while keeping the others at bay with Bludgeoning Curses and Stunning Spells. It had been an arduous task to split his focus while confined to the tiny circle, and more than once Godric had stopped the activity, scolding him to stay in his allotted space. He'd been ecstatic when the portrait announced he was ready for the Second Circle, until the extra suits of armor started chucking hard rubber balls at him to simulate opponent's spells. To make matters worse, each of the 'spell casters' would take four of his Stunners to take down, to simulate opponent's shield charms.

The new exercise was ridiculously difficult. "Dead!" Godric would shout every time one of the balls would land, forcing him to restart the training. He failed again and again. No amount of Quidditch training could prepare him for this new hell. No matter how he dodged, he'd still get hit, either by one of the balls or his melee opponent's blunted practice blade, leaving the young Gryffindor with a fresh set of bruises.

"I don't get it!" Harry finally shouted, throwing his bastard sword to the stone floor. "What am I doing wrong? Is there some Jedi bullshit that I'm supposed to know about?"

"Jedi? Stop speaking nonsense, boy!"

"Then what is it? There's no way to block the first guy's sword and not get hit by the others! There's too many of them!"

"Then fix it!" Godric roared. "What did I tell you our first day?"

"You told me a lot of things, you'll have to be more specific," Harry said acidly.

"We're offensive, boy! We take the fight to our enemies! You're still thinking like a spell caster, trying to dodge around and block while waiting for an opportunity. Stop prancing around like a pansy and strike those blighters down!"

"I'm trying! But I still can't land a hit on sword guy while trying to dodge the 'spells!'"

"Well the 'guys casting spells' don't have swords, now do they? They're hanging back for a reason! If you get in close, they're all but finished," the portrait replied dully. Harry finally understood, but Godric elaborated anyway. "Prioritize your targets! Sure, the 'guy with the sword' seems like he's your most dangerous target, but he's not! Get him off of you, then take down the others casting spells!" Harry nodded, picking up his blade and returning to the middle of the circle. "Begin!"

Harry immediately clashed blades with Sword Guy, then used his strength to shove his opponent backwards before immediately turning towards the nearest 'caster.' He bat aside the suit of armor's thrown ball as he dashed forward, 'killing' him with a strike to the helmet. Sword Guy came back with a vengeance, but Harry neatly sidestepped the strike, letting the suit of armor pass right by him. Every instinct he had told him to try to follow up against Sword Guy, but he ignored his gut. Instead, he ducked a rubber ball, lunging forward and plunging his blade into the nearest 'castor's' chest plate. His thrust had enough force to pierce the armor, even with a blunted sword.

Harry tore his bastard sword free, deflecting another rubber ball without thinking. He was focused now. In his mind, Sword Guy looked a lot like an angry troll, while the rubber ball throwing 'casters' seemed to take the form of men in dark robes and silver, skull shaped masks. Placing the spell resistant troll between himself and the two remaining Death Eaters, Harry ducked beneath the troll's heavy swing.. With a shout, Harry parried the troll's follow up strike, guiding the massive club to crash against the floor before flicking his wrist. Pointing his wand straight into the troll's beady eyes, he let loose an Incendiary Charm. The troll reeled back, and Harry kicked it in the chest, sending it stumbling towards the Death Eaters and falling to the floor with an almighty crash.

His blade bat aside the Death Eaters' pathetic spells like they were nothing as he advanced on the nearest masked wizard. He could see the fear though Dark wizard's eye slits as he struck. A moment later, the Death Eater's head was rolling along the floor, his body lying in a crumpled heap. Harry stalked the final Death Eater, who was backing away and casting every spell he could think of. The Initiate deflected them all, calmly dispatching the fallen troll as he passed. The last Death Eater soon followed the beast to hell.

Breathing heavily, Harry finally came back to reality. He wasn't in some darkened room facing Death Eaters and an angry troll. He was in the Hall of Gryffindor surrounded by piles of armor. The righteous, all consuming rage left his body. His eyes met Godric's painted gaze. "Merlin's beard, boy. You're going to be the best of us. You weren't supposed to actually _win_ , at least not yet." The portrait turned his eyes to the fallen suits of armor, his face twisted in thought. "Your First Task is tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"You're going to need a proper weapon. It's time to forge your sword."

"How do I do that in a single night? I've never exactly swung a blacksmith's hammer or anything." Harry remembered watching a documentary with the Dursleys about Medieval Warfare, but that had been years ago and didn't really go into detail.

"It won't be forged by a blacksmith's hammer, boy," the portrait chuckled. "You're going to complete a trial that will forge the blade in your hand into a proper Knightly weapon."

"What's the trial?"

"It's different for every Initiate," Godric evaded. "Travel to Snowdon, a mountain in Wales. You must start from the mountain's very base, that's important! Climb until you reach the shores of Glaslyn. At dusk, plant your blade into the ground and kneel before its waters like so." One of the suits of armor demonstrated. "Speak your name and your purpose, and The Lady will come to you. If you pass her test, she'll help you forge your weapon."

"The Lady?" Harry asked incredulously. "The Lady of the Lake?" The portrait nodded, a small smile on his bearded face. "You want me to pass a trial from the Lady of the bloody Lake? What happens if I fail?"

"You die. The Lady will guide you into the depths and drown you in her sweet embrace," Godric said solemnly. "Not a bad way to go, considering."

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered. "You're already dead."

"Take only the sword." A small table rose from the floor, a sword belt and sheath upon it. "Leave your wand here. You won't need it, and it'll offend her." Harry nodded, buckling the sword belt around his waist before flicking his wrist and setting his wand down. "Be sure to be respectful, and whatever you do, don't lie to her."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me," Harry smirked, sheathing his sword. "Getting soft in your old age?"

"Don't test me, boy. Now go."

Harry exited the Hall of Gryffindor, pushing the doors closed behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know that they had disappeared. Deciding that he wanted to shower and change clothes before meeting a figure from one of the most famous legends of all time, Harry turned his steps toward the Gryffindor Tower. He hardly thought that a sweaty t-shirt and track pants were appropriate.

Harry received more than a few strange looks on his way, but he was used to being stared at, so it was easy to ignore them. He was climbing through the portrait hole before he realized that he'd just walked through the castle wearing a bloody sword on his hip. Well, that would certainly get the rumor mill churning. Perhaps he could pass it off as a joke or dare gone wrong, but part of him didn't want to. It would feel too much like denying who he was slowly becoming.

Shaking off this uncomfortable thought, Harry strode confidently through the common room. While he wasn't going to boast about it, he wasn't going to hide his newfound martial skill, either. Every eye in the common room followed him as he marched up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

To his chagrin, Neville was sitting on his bed, reading a book entitled _A Thousand Rare Herbs and Fungi_. The boy looked up as Harry entered, his pudgy face immediately focusing on the sword on Harry's left hip. "Hiya, Harry."

"Hey Nev," he replied, stripping off his shirt.

Neville's gaze briefly glanced at Harry's new physique. The potions had done their job. Hard, thick slabs of muscle coated his body without a trace of excess fat. "Been working out?"

"You have no idea," the young man said as he rummaged through his trunk for his bathroom bag.

"Nice sword."

"Thanks. It's only a practice blade, though."

"Where'd you get it?" Harry glanced at the boy, arching a brow. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's not a big deal Nev." He finally found his bag buried beneath the Invisibility Cloak. "I don't mean to be rude, but I kinda have a long afternoon ahead of me. I've got to climb a mountain and hope I don't get drowned by legends."

"Sounds like fun."

 ********* **DN &C** *********

Climbing a Welsh mountain in the middle of November was a bad idea, in Harry's humble opinion. For one, it was bloody freezing. His heaviest cloak did little to block the blisteringly cold winds. Freezing rain had been pelting him the entire hike, leaving him soggy and shivering. He'd gladly trade anything he owned for a Warming Charm.

"You won't need a wand, he said. It'll offend the Lady, he said." Harry griped. "Well this blasted mountain is offending me, how about that?" He knew that the discomfort was likely part of the trial, but that didn't mean he had to like it. At least it was too early for snow.

He'd had to use Watkin Path, since it started lower than of the others, and though none of the paths would put him directly on the shores of Glaslyn, Watkin Path would get him closest and involve the least 'off-roading.' Of course the little brochure he'd picked up in the nearby village noted Watkin Path was much more demanding than the others. The old lady who'd sold it to him had looked outside, then to the sword at his waist before shaking her head.

The wind and rain had ruined what should have been a beautiful hike. He'd never seen waterfalls before, and he'd have probably stopped to read the commemorative plaque on one of the boulders if the weather had been nicer. Finally, his winding path had led him past Llyn Llydaw, the lowest and largest of Snowdon's three lakes. He'd barely gotten more than a glimpse of it before the path turned, which, according to the brochure's map, was his cue to leave Watkin Path and... climb directly up a sheer cliff face. Nice.

The cliff wasn't that high, all things considered, and it did have a lot of places for him to grab hold of, but he didn't fancy falling to his death. He could always Apparate to the top, but that would probably be considered cheating. He consulted the map again, looking for a way around, but there wasn't any real option nearby. He'd have to start almost back at the bottom again at the opposite side of the mountain, and he didn't have that kind of time. Dusk was fast approaching.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, looking for a decent place to start his ascent. Finding a likely looking boulder, the young Initiate began to climb. It was treacherous, and his hands kept losing their hold due to numbness and the slippery, wet rock, but Harry didn't have any choice but to persevere. He chuckled, imagining Voldemort's disappointment when he learned that his vengeance had been stolen by a slippery cliff in the middle of nowhere. Finally clambering over the ledge at the top, Harry was treated to one of the most beautiful vistas he'd ever seen. The lake lay ahead, its waters choppy and gray, back dropped by the lands beyond. Even in the pouring rain, it was a humbling site. The sky was already beginning to darken, forcing Harry into a stiff jog to the lake's shore. Taking a quick moment to breath and collect himself, he drew his blunted sword and stabbed it into the grassy beach.

Harry knelt before the blade as Godric had told him. What was he supposed to do next? Something about his name... He was supposed to call out his name and purpose. But what was his purpose? Was it something immediate, like forging a sword, or was he supposed to be more abstract? The painting hadn't really gone into too much detail. Harry decided to go with the simplest option. "My name is Harry James Potter, Initiate of the Knightly Order of the Phoenix," he called, feeling more than a little stupid. "I'm here to speak to the Lady of the Lake, to pass her trial and forge my blade."

Nothing happened. He knelt there for a moment, blinking through the rain at the lake before him, wondering what he'd done wrong. Had his purpose been off? Was he supposed to have been more introspective? He dropped his head, letting the water roll off his soaked cloak and drip onto the sword planted in front of him. Maybe he wasn't worthy. He cursed himself for his stupidity. Of course this wouldn't work.

The rain stopped. Glancing up, he could see that all around the lake water fell from the sky, but here at its shore and above its suddenly still surface, everything was silent. More importantly, his soggy clothes were suddenly dry and warm, as if they'd been sitting in front of the fireplace in Gryffindor Tower. Not daring to breathe, Harry gazed at the lake.

A woman appeared from its depths, rising to the surface without even a ripple. To call her beautiful would be like calling sun a candle. Golden blonde hair tumbled over one shoulder, framing an otherworldly enchanting face. She was tall and slender, clad only in a simple, flowing, snow white dress. She seemed to glow from within, bathing the water around her in a silver light. Harry had to privately agree with Godric; dying in this woman's embrace would be the sweetest death he could imagine.

She walked towards him, striding slowly upon the lake's glassy surface in her bare feet. With each step a single ripple rolled across the water. Before he knew it, the Lady stood before his kneeling form. How had she gotten so close? He bowed his head, unable to gaze at her for too long. If he did, he'd never be able to look away. "Harry James Potter, Initiate to the Knightly Order of the Phoenix." Her voice made him want to weep in its beauty. It was as if someone had taken all the world's most beautiful sounds and coalesced them into one melodic tone. "Why have you come to me?"

"To... to forge my sword," he whispered.

She laughed, and Harry decided that he could listen to the musical sound forever. "That is why the portrait of Godric Gryffindor sent you to me, but that's not why you are here."

He risked a glance at her unbelievably beautiful face. "I need the strength to get justice for everyone Voldemort and his ilk have killed," he said quietly. "I want to strike them down. For my parents, for the children like me who grew up never knowing their family." His voice grew stronger as his conviction rose. "For all the mothers who've had to bury their children. For all the wives who've had to mourn their husbands. These Dark Lords take and they take, killing everyone in their path, and I mean to kill them. That's why I'm here." He looked her in the eyes, unwilling to cower before this ethereal woman any longer.

She stared at him for a long moment. "What of your friends? What of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger? They will not follow you along the path you've chosen. You know this. Already they grow jealous of your growing strength."

"Then they can get out of my way. I don't need them. I don't need anyone."

The Lady laughed again. "Oh, Harry, we both know that that's only half true." She cupped his chin, and Harry felt an utter sense of calm wash over him. "You need allies, Harry. Gawyn didn't drive off the Black Legion by himself. He stood at the head of fifty brave Knights." Harry gulped. "All but seven perished. Would you so willingly sacrifice your friends?"

The young man bowed his head. "No," he whispered. He could feel the Lady's hands running through his hair. "No, I wouldn't."

"A true leader is one that has the strength to send his followers to certain death, Harry, because he knows to do otherwise would doom his cause to failure. If you mean to take up the title of Knight-Commander, it's a compromise you'll have to make."

"How?"

She smiled down at him. "Ask the memory of Godric." She placed a long finger directly upon his lightning bolt scar. "There's a Darkness inside you, Harry James Potter, though not one of your own making. It will need to be dealt with. The process will hurt." What the hell was she talking about? What Darkness? "Let us forge your blade."

"What? What about the trial?"

"This was the trial," she laughed. "And you have passed. I will help you forge your sword. In return, I ask for one favor. There will come a time when you feel betrayed by the person you will come to trust most. You will be hurt and angry, lost and confused. I ask you to forgive this person." Harry nodded. That seemed simple enough. "Very well, Harry."

She knelt before him, her silver eyes never leaving his face. The Lady placed her delicate hands over his, and he could feel her power coursing through him, both beautiful and terrible. "Channel your magic into the sword. I will help you guide it with my own."

Harry did as he was told, channeling his magic into the sword as if it were a wand. He could feel the Lady's silver light mingling with his magic as it poured into the blade. The process could have gone on for seconds or hours, he truly couldn't tell, lost as he was in her eyes. She was the moon and the water, power and grace, and Harry was enraptured. The light grew brighter, emanating from the sword now, forcing Harry to look away lest he be blinded. His scar started to sting, then burn, as the Lady's light filled him. The blade grew hot in his hands, but he couldn't think of anything besides the pain in his head. Who was screaming? Was that his voice?

He finally felt _something_ tear away from deep within himself. He had no idea what it was, but it was Dark. Vile. The Lady's magic assaulted this something, shattering it into a million tiny pieces. As it broke, Harry heard a familiar voice, one he'd only ever heard shouting with fear and pain.

" _Harry... you are so loved. Mama loves you. Daddy loves you. Harry, be safe... be strong. I love you so, so much."_

The light died. Harry was once again kneeling in front of the Lady of the Lake, tears streaming down his face. In their joined hands they clasped a hilt bound in red leather with golden lilies stitched into its crimson weave. A golden lion, roaring in silent rage, served as its pommel while a pair of crimson and golden wings, each as big as his hand, formed the cross guard. The blade itself was a bright silver, unadorned, but it's simple, ethereal beauty reminded him of the Lady's light.

"Every sword needs a name, Harry." The Lady's voice was soft and compassionate.

 _You are so loved._

Deep, wrenching sobs shook his large frame. "Lily..." He choked as the Lady wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Her name is Lily." The blade flashed in brief but blinding light before disappearing. Burning pain lanced through the inside of his right forearm. He wrenched up his sleeve, shocked to see a tattoo branding itself upon his skin. As he watched the lines coalesce into a recognizable form, he couldn't hold back the sobs that tore through him. His mother's namesake was forever burned into his skin.

 _Mama loves you. Daddy loves you._

A wail of grief and agony tore ripped itself from his chest. His balled fists pummeled the ground over and over again, beating their groove into grassy shore beneath him. Falling to his hands and knees, Harry knew that he'd finally remembered the last thing that Lily Potter had said to him. The Lady had unlocked a memory of his mother that didn't involve her screaming in terror, and he couldn't help but be eternally grateful, no matter how much it hurt.

 _Be safe... be strong._

He didn't know how long he knelt before the shores of Glaslyn, crying for a mother he never knew, but when he finally dried his eyes, the Lady of the Lake was gone.

 _I love you so, so much._


	6. Chapter Six

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: So I've gotten a lot of questions about the whole Knight thing. A lot of people seem to be interested in reading about Harry using the old Transfiguration, Dark Arts, Mind Arts, and Runes combination that is so prevalent in HP Fanfiction, which I understand. I enjoy that stuff, too. However, other, better authors have already played that angle much better than I ever could. I'm not looking to borrow a superior author's ideas. If that's the story you're looking for, I'd highly recommend _A Cadmean Victory_ by DarknessEnthroned. It is nothing short of superb.**

 **Nysk: The Knight/Dragon showdown is definitely on the horizon, but it doesn't appear for the First Task.**

 **Hoegh: Your wish is my command.**

 **Snowmcslow: I'm glad that my writing was able to have such a large emotional impact. :)**

 **Guest: I'm glad you like it, but don't count your chickens before they've hatched.**

 **Hotkillerz: Same as above.**

 **Arthas Potter: I think I'm going to edit the summary a little bit. I don't think that it conveys what the story is truly about.**

 **Magitech: I see both sides, to be honest, which made it so much fun to write.**

 **Hubiao: Excalibur would just be cliché.**

 **Chapter Six**

When Harry awoke the morning of the First Task, he almost wished he hadn't. His dreams had been filled with his mother's voice and beautiful, ethereal legends. With a deep sigh, Harry stared at his bed's canopy considering how much had changed over the past few weeks. He felt like a completely different person, though he couldn't force himself to consider it a bad thing.

One thing he did want to change, however, was how little time he'd spent with Hermione and Ron. He had barely seen either of them lately, and it was largely his fault. He was always training with Godric or spending time with the other Champions. He resolved to make time for his two oldest friends. They'd been through too much together to throw it all away now.

In the spirit of that, he decided that he'd skip his usual breakfast with Cedric, Fleur and Lyra. Rolling out of bed, he hastened to the bathroom for a quick shower and shave before heading back to the dormitory. Piece by piece, he equipped the leather gear that Godric had provided for him the night before. While the portrait claimed that the young Initiate still had to earn his armor, he also conceded that it was foolhardy to enter a life-threatening situation without any protection. In the end, the painting had come up with this compromise. The hardened leather offered better protection than a set of school robes, but still left room for improvement.

When Harry had tried to tell Godric of his trial with the Lady, the painting had stopped him. "There are some things that are private," he'd said. "What happened at Glaslyn should stay between you and the Lady." To Harry's surprise, Godric hadn't laughed at the name he'd given his sword. Perhaps the old Knight knew that he wouldn't have named a magical blade after a flower without good reason. Harry was still getting used to the idea that he could call and dismiss Lily with merely a thought, though it was preferable to walking around with a sword at his hip all the time.

"Ron," Harry said, kicking the redhead's bed with his steel-toed boot. "Get up."

"Harry?" Ron grouched. "Wake me up in an hour."

Harry kicked the bed a second time. "Don't make me ask you again. Let's get some breakfast." Ron's love of food battled with his love of a nice, comfy bed. "If you don't get up now, I'll eat all the bacon."

The redhead rolled over immediately, gaping at him in horror. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

"You _couldn't_."

"I'm six foot two and weigh more than two-hundred pounds. I could eat every strip of bacon and every plate of sausage in the Great Hall and still have room for hash browns," Harry replied dryly.

"Fine! I'm getting up!" Ron grumbled. After the young Gryffindor had made himself somewhat presentable, the friends walked down to the Great Hall. Cedric waved him over to the Hufflepuff table, but Harry just shook his head, which seemed to make Ron happy. "So, are you ready for the First Task?"

"As ready as I can be without knowing what it is," Harry replied, snagging half a plate of bacon and squashing it between two slices of toast. "The Champions are supposed to report to the unused classroom on the First Floor in an hour."

Ron nodded, piling his plate high with a bit of everything. After a shifty look in Harry's direction, he added a few extra strips of bacon to his plate. "I thought the actual Task wasn't starting until one."

Hermione Granger chose that moment to walk into the Great Hall, followed by Neville Longbottom. Harry could see her moment of indecision, before she primly made her way to sit by Ron. "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning, Hermione, Neville."

The pudgy boy nodded in greeting. "You didn't get drowned by a legend. I stayed up late to see if you'd come back okay, but I must have fallen asleep."

Harry was slightly touched by the act of kindness from the boy. "Yeah. It was a pretty crazy night."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, interested in spite of herself. "Where'd you go? What do you mean, 'drowned by a legend?"

"Trust me, 'Mione. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Hell, I barely believe it, and I was there." The girl scoffed but didn't press the issue. "So how're classes?"

"Do you really care?" Hermione arched an eyebrow. "You haven't shown up to a single class since Halloween. You're like a ghost. You get up before everyone else, you eat with the other Champions, you disappear all day and you don't come back until well after midnight."

"I've been busy."

"Doing what? It's not like you have to study. 'Every spell,' remember?" The girl laughed darkly. "You're a completely different person. You're keeping secrets. We used to tell each other everything!"

Harry was starting to get angry now. "Can you blame me? The last time I told you something, you got pissy and stormed off!"

"Of course I did! You skipped years of hard work! The muscles, the knowledge... None of it is earned! It was all just gifted to you by the Goblet of Fire. You spend your days making out with your pedophilic Durmstrang girlfriend!"

"Pedophilic?"

"Despite everything, you're still only fourteen, Harry. Everyone else may have forgotten, but I haven't."

"It's only three years," the young man defended, his eyes narrowed.

Hermione returned his glare. "In the Muggle world, it's called Statutory Rape. You're below the age of consent."

"Well it's a good thing that we're not Muggles, isn't it? And she's not my girlfriend. Besides, it's not like we've really done anything."

"You know what? If you want to consort with Dark witches and keep secrets, that's fine!" Hermione stood, grabbing her books. "But don't come crawling to me the next time you need help with some stupid, hair-brained adventure."

"That's what this is about?" Harry stood, towering over her. The rest of the Gryffindor table was watching now. "That I don't need you to hold my hand anymore?"

"I want my best friend back!" Hermione spat, tears welling in her eyes. "The socially awkward boy that I had to nag to do his homework! The boy that would fight trolls and basilisks for girls he barely knew! The boy that would never abandon his friends to hang out with the 'popular crowd!' The boy that I lo-" She stopped, wiping her eyes. "He was the only person that understood, and this muscle-bound monstrosity that you've become stole him from me!" Tears were streaming freely down her face now. "Give... him... back!" She shouted, punctuating each word by beating her tiny fist on his broad chest. He barely even felt the impact. She stepped away, drying her face on the sleeve of her robe.

"Hermione," Harry said softly, pulling her into a hug. The tiny girl barely reached his chest. She didn't resist, her tears staining his leather armor. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to abandon you. I'm still that guy. I'm just going through some things." After a moment of indecision, he made a choice. It was time to bring his friends into his new world. The Lady had said to not give up so easily on his friends, and he intended to follow her advice. "Let's get out of here. I'll tell you and Ron everything." He took a step back, kneeling to look into her chocolate eyes. "Don't think for a second that I don't need you."

He took Hermione's delicate hand in his, guiding her from the Great Hall. Ron followed, munching on Harry's long-forgotten bacon sandwich. Harry noted Lyra watching them, her gaze focused on Hermione, but the Durmstrang Champion quickly glanced away when she caught him looking. Harry's eyes narrowed; he didn't like the look that she had given his closest friend. Something about it caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, still sniffling, as they climbed one of Hogwarts's great stone staircases.

"Where I've been spending my days. It's long past time that I showed you." He led them up to the Seventh Floor and stopped in front of the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. He paced in front of the wall, ignoring Hermione's raised brow as he called for the Hall of Gryffindor. Both of his friends gasped as the wall split into a pair of familiar crimson doors.

"I take it you both can see them, then?" Harry asked ruefully.

"Why wouldn't we?" Ron asked through a mouthful of bacon. "They're bloody huge!"

"Well, according to my... teacher, only a true Gryffindor who'd completed three Acts of True Courage can see them. Anyone else would just see a blank wall."

"What's an Act of True Courage?"

"Teacher?"

"Well, apparently an Act of True Courage is putting your safety at risk for the lives of others. It's all about intent, like most magic. Since each of you were out of commission for one of mine, I wonder what yours are."

"Ummm... Sorcerer's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, and..." Ron paused, thinking hard. "I guess the troll in the bathroom in First Year. The spiders in the Forbidden Forest probably count, too." Harry was stunned. He'd forgotten all about the troll when he'd been recollecting his Acts of Courage, but it made sense. He and Ron had willingly gone toe to toe with a troll to save Hermione.

"I think mine are the Sorcerer's Stone, going after Ron in the Shrieking Shack, and then rescuing Snuffles and his feathered friend," Hermione supplied. "I mean, Ron wasn't in any real danger from Snuffles, but we didn't know that at the time. All I was thinking about was saving him from a mass murderer."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. Let's go." He pushed open the great double doors and led them inside.

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed as he examined the Hall. Hermione was looking at the thousands of books lining the walls. "How'd you find this place?"

"Dobby told me. I asked him if he knew anywhere I could practice spells."

"Didn't he try to kill you a couple times?"

"Nah... He just wanted to critically injure me to save my life. Totally different."

Hermione seemed like she was about to reply, but a stern voice cut her off. "Boy! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be preparing for..." The voice of Godric Gryffindor paused, looking at his guests. "Who's this?"

"These are my friends, Ron and Hermione. Guys, this is Godric Gryffindor." Their twin gasps made him chuckle.

The portrait's eyes narrowed. "I don't remember telling you that you could bring anyone else here."

"I don't remember you telling me that I couldn't." Harry replied smugly. "Besides, if they didn't belong here, they wouldn't have even been able to see the doors, remember?"

Godric stroked his long beard. "Fine," he finally said. "Are they here to join the Order?"

Harry shrugged. "That's up to them. I was just tired of keeping secrets from my best friends."

"What's the Order?"

Before the portrait could answer, Harry turned to his friends. "Godric here can tell you everything. I have to go get ready for the First Task." Hermione nodded mutely, her brown eyes still focused on the books lining walls. She seemed torn between her desire to talk to one of Hogwarts's Founders and the need to explore such a vast library. "Have fun."

He left the Hall of Gryffindor, making the long journey back down to the First Floor. Like always, he was the last Champion to arrive, though none of the Judges had yet to make an appearance. "Harry! We missed you at breakfast," Cedric called as the taller boy walked through the door.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to start having breakfast with Ron and Hermione from now on," Harry replied. Lyra's violet eyes hardened at this piece of knowledge, while Cedric and Fleur didn't seem to care either way.

"Fair enough," the Hufflepuff shrugged. "You guys have been friends for years. It's not fair if we monopolize all your free time."

"Even zo we do enjoy your company," Fleur smiled. "You'll 'ave to introduce us to your friends sometime. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine." Harry returned her warm smile. "Unless zey are rude. Or stupid. Or uncouth." He had the distinct impression that the beautiful French witch would not approve of the tactless Ronald Weasley.

"I'll have to pass on the meet and greet with the 'family," Lyra said dryly. "I don't have time for children."

Harry glared at her, bringing himself to his full height, but before he could say anything, the door swung open, revealing the Tri-Wizard Tournament Judges and about a dozen other people carrying bags. Barty Crouch surveyed the classroom before flicking his wand. All of the room's desks stacked themselves neatly against the back wall. Satisfied, he pointed towards one side of the room. "Makeup and wardrobe can set up over there. Visual-Audio Technicians on the other side."

"Makeup?" Harry muttered to Cedric, who shook his head. "They're drunk if they think I'm wearing makeup."

"I'm not surprised," the older boy replied. "This tournament is a huge deal. I can only imagine how much money went into it. They're going to turn it into a spectacle. Marketing, advertising, the works."

"Champions! If you could come over here, please," Crouch ordered from the front of the room. They acquiesced, though Harry's attention was still focused on the witches setting up four almost identical makeup stations. "The First Task will begin in a few hours, and we have a lot to do. First of all, for this Task, you will be split up into teams of two."

"Teams?" Lyra asked. "I thought this was an individual competition."

"The entire point of the competition is to foster cooperation between the schools," Bagman said jovially. "There will be a few team-based Tasks throughout the tournament."

"Quite," Crouch agreed. "Don't worry, Miss Noir, you'll still have plenty of opportunities to show off your individual talents. Now, originally this Task was going to have the three Champions working together, then graded on their contribution to the team. However, since we've added a fourth Champion, we've had to completely rework the First Task." The man sent a bemused glance in Harry's direction. "The two Hogwarts Champions will be separated, of course, as to not give them an unfair advantage. Each team will be entering a cave filled with difficult challenges requiring both magical and physical prowess."

The Champions nodded; that seemed simple enough. "The twist is, only one person from each team will be allowed to use a wand," Bagman supplied. "The other will have to leave their wand in the custody of their Headmaster or Headmistress."

"Also, the Champion with the wand can _only_ use their wand. They are not allowed to participate in any of the physical obstacles and must rely on their teammate to get them through," Crouch said. "For instance, if there was a wall that needed to be climbed, the Champion with the wand must either be carried up the wall by their teammate or find a way to the top using magic. Failure to comply with these rules will result in a loss of one point per infraction. The members of the winning team will each receive ten points, minus any infractions. The losing team will each receive five points."

"Teamwork will be the key to success," Ludo chimed in. "Now, let's select our teams! Miss Noir, Miss Delacour, if you would please step to the front, we're going to have a good, old-fashioned coin toss."

Crouch pulled a large silver coin from his pocket, showing it to the two girls. "The Tri-Wizard Tournament logo is heads, the Cup is tails. Miss Noir, please call it in the air," he said, preparing to flip the coin. Harry wasn't really paying attention to the coin toss; he hardly thought it mattered. All of the Champions knew that it would be Lyra and Harry against Fleur and Cedric.

"Heads," Lyra said, disinterested, as the coin spun through the air. The silver coin struck the stone floor, bouncing several times before coming to rest near Harry's boot, the Tri-Wizard Cup winking up at him.

"It is tails," Crouch said, turning to Fleur. "Choose your teammate, Miss Delacour."

The blonde girl didn't hesitate before looking at Harry. "I choose 'Arry Potter." The other Champions turned to her in shock. "What? 'E is bigger and stronger. I want to win." Harry glanced at Cedric. Was the Hufflepuff pouting? "Don't worry Cedric. I will buy you something pretty with my winnings."

"I guess you're getting the wand, then?" Harry asked dryly.

"Oui," the French witch said simply.

"Are there any questions?" Crouch asked, ignoring the by-play.

"Yeah," Harry said. "What are the rules for the competitors without a wand?"

"What do you mean?"

"For example, let's say I could hypothetically cast a simple _Lumos_ spell without using a wand. Would that be allowed?" Harry was more interested in seeing if he would be allowed to use Lily, but they didn't need to know that. Lyra was studying him carefully, her violet eyes calculating.

Crouch frowned, before turning to the other Judges. They huddled together, discussing it amongst themselves. After a brief, but heated argument, Crouch turned back to the gathered Champions. "We have decided to allow such an occurrence, given that the magical obstacles will be far too difficult for even a prodigiously skilled wizard to complete without the aid of a wand."

"Thank you."

"Any other questions?" After a brief, silent pause he continued. "Very well, Miss Delacour, Mister Potter, you will be the Blue Team. Mister Diggory and Miss Noir will be the Red Team. Please report to wardrobe and makeup."

Harry groaned, turning to the makeup tables. Each station had a plaque with a Champion's name engraved at the top. Dragging his feet to the end of the row, he sat down in the chair labeled 'Potter.' A smiling middle-aged witch bustled over to him. "Mister Potter? My name's Eleanor Hardwick, but you can call me Ellie," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Ellie," he said, shaking her hand. "Please, call me Harry."

"It's a pleasure. Now, what team are you on?"

"Blue."

"With Miss Delacour? You'll make a dashing couple," Ellie stated, smiling. "Though, with your coloring I would have dressed you in reds."

"It's always been my color," Harry grinned.

"I'm sure. So, let's get you dressed, then we'll work on your hair and makeup, alright?"

"Why can't I wear what I'm wearing now? And is makeup really necessary? I mean, no one's going to get close enough to see my face."

The woman chuckled. "Haven't you heard? They're pulling out all the stops for this tournament. They spent a fortune on some brand new enchanted items. They've been selling enchanted 'Tri-Wizard Mirrors' for weeks. People from all across the world are going to be watching. They've hired commentators in a dozen different languages. Apparently, they've gotten some experts to go over each of the tasks in-depth and give their opinions on how each Champion performed. There's even going to be post-Task interviews with Traci Sparks and James Longstaff!"

"Who?" Harry couldn't help but grin. Whoever 'Traci Sparks and James Longstaff' were, they sounded like they should be starring in the types of videos that had completely ruined Dudley's computer the previous summer.

"You don't know who Traci and James are? They're famous talk-show hosts from the Wizarding Wireless Network. I listen to them every day." She turned around, digging through her bag before brandishing a thick booklet titled _The Ultimate Tri-Wizard Tournament Viewer's Guide and Schedule_. "I bought my mirror last week! I'm so excited to be apart of this!"

"I had no idea this was such a big deal," Harry frowned.

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess I just thought that I'd show up to the Tasks and do my thing."

"Well, the Ministry is looking at the Tournament as an investment. They're counting on mirror sales, advertisements, and merchandise to turn a huge profit. That's why they changed it so that it's ten Tasks instead of the traditional three. Fewer people would have coughed up the fifty galleons for a mirror to only watch three Tasks."

"I guess..." Harry shrugged. He didn't know how he felt about the whole thing being turned into what amounted to a Muggle reality show.

"Anyways, let's get you dressed." She lead him over to a nearby metal rack of clothing. Most of the clothes were various shades of red, grey and black. "Well, that won't do at all," Ellie muttered, pushing the outfits to the left. Harry was stunned when they just disappeared at the end while an entirely new set appeared from the right-hand side. She repeated the process several times before the color scheme changed to a mixture of blue, black, and grey. "Much better."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Ellie asked, looking pointedly at the leather armor he was wearing. Blushing, Harry stripped off the leather, piece by piece, placing each of them in the provided trunk by the makeup table. Eventually, he was down to just his boxers.

Lyra whistled suggestively behind him, provoking a heated glare. He couldn't really stay irritated, though. She was in a similar state of undress, standing there in her bra and knickers, and the teenage boy in him couldn't look away. The raven-haired goddess arched a perfect eyebrow, daring him to comment. However, the memory of the look she'd given Hermione in the Great Hall caused him to frown. He turned back to Ellie, who had finally decided on an outfit.

"You've got to be joking," Harry said as he lifted the blue shirt up. It looked about three sizes too small. "This is going to be practically painted on."

"If you've got it, flaunt it," Ellie replied. "Sex sells. We've decided that since all four Champions are hotties, we're really going to play up the teen heartthrob angle." Harry blushed furiously, pulling the sleeveless shirt over his head. The fabric seemed kind of stretchy, and it clung to his torso like glue. He could still count each individual abdominal muscle. "Very nice," Ellie smiled at him. "I like your tattoo."

Harry glanced at the lily tattooed on his right forearm. "It's for my mom," he replied, feeling the need to justify having such a feminine mark burned into his skin. He considered going to a tattoo parlor and making the whole thing look a little cooler. He'd have to ask Godric if it would interfere with the magic.

"Zis so-called 'tank top' does not even reach my _nombril_!" Fleur cried indignantly from across the room. "You cannot possibly expect me to compete in zis!" It sounded like the French witch was similarly dissatisfied with her wardrobe.

Harry pulled on the grey cargo trousers he was offered, then laced a pair of black combat boots before buckling a black belt around his waist. Finally, he strapped the Order gauntlet to his left forearm. "That doesn't go with the outfit," Ellie told him.

"It's non-optional."

"Why would you need a wand holster without a wand?"

"Sentimental reasons," Harry said. To be honest, he felt naked without the hard leather gauntlet. "The gauntlet stays."

"You're going to make me completely redress you, aren't you?" Ellie asked, rubbing her temples.

Harry shrugged. "You do what you have to do."

The woman gave the gauntlet an utter look of loathing before turning back to the magical clothing rack. She flicked through the rack irritably, pulling out a pair of khaki cargo pants before finding a pair of boots and belt that would go with them. After a moment's thought, she dug through a nearby trunk and pulled out a finger-less leather glove that precisely matched the gauntlet. "Hurry up, then. We're falling behind."

Harry followed Ellie's instructions, pulling on the proffered clothing. Another, younger woman walked over. "I thought we'd agreed on blue, grey and black for the Blue Team." she said to Ellie.

"Well, Mister Potter here can't live without his fancy glove, so we're going to have to make do."

The young woman groaned. "Do you realize how hard it was to get that girl into the clothing she's already wearing? Are you really going to make me go back and completely change her outfit? Besides, tan and dark brown would look horrible with her coloring. That's why we went with grey and black to begin with."

"Go with a warmer, lighter brown," Ellie said, after a moment. "And a very light beige. Her natural tan and hair should go well with those colors."

The young woman seemed like she was about to cry. "Yes, ma'am," she said, moving back to Fleur's table.

"You are causing quite a few problems, Mister Potter."

"I'm sorry," Harry lied. It wasn't his fault that the Ministry was turning the whole thing into a circus. He'd have been perfectly happy with the leather armor Godric had provided.

" _Excusez moi?_ " Fleur's sharp voice cried. " _Tu es foutrement avec moi! Je ne vais pas!_ "

"She sounds pissed," Harry commented.

Ellie sniffed. "You should have thought about that before you insisted on the glove."

"Gauntlet," Harry corrected. Ellie said nothing, instead seating him in the chair and rummaging through her makeup bag. "You're not going to make me look like a girl, are you?"

The woman laughed. "You're not wearing makeup. This is not like a Muggle show, with bright lights that would drain the color from your face." She returned with a bottle of mouse, going to work on his hair. "It's a good thing that I already decided to go with a messy hairdo," she commented after a moment. "Yours has to be the most stubborn hair I've ever seen."

"It's a Potter trait. I've given up on trying to tame it," he replied with a grin. "How do you know about Muggle television shows?"

"I'm a Muggleborn. Doing costumes, hair and makeup for Muggle television is my job."

"That's why you didn't dress me in robes," Harry realized. "I was wondering why we're all dressed in Muggle clothes."

"Muggles have sexier outfits than wizards do," Ellie shrugged. "You're all young and good looking. It'd be a shame to hide you under six layers of clothing." She looked him over. "Hold still." Harry ducked away when she aimed her wand at his face. "Will you relax? I'm not going to curse you!"

"Sorry. Habit. Constant vigilance and all that." As far as Harry was concerned, the wizarding world was far too lax when it came to wand safety. They were potentially deadly weapons. It'd be like calmly pointing a pistol at someone's face.

"I'm going to cast a small charm, okay?" Harry nodded. " _Capillum Crescere_ ," she murmured. The entire lower half of Harry's face and jawline itched for a moment until Ellie canceled the spell. "There we go!" She turned Harry around to face the mirror, and he could immediately tell what her spell had done. A thick layer of black stubble coated his cheeks, jaw and chin. It wasn't enough to be called a beard, but it definitely looked like he'd gone a week or two without shaving. He decided he rather liked the look.

"Alright, I'm going to rub some oil on your arms, okay?" Ellie said, brandishing a bottle.

"You're going to do what?"

"Body oil. It'll make those muscles really pop," she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're joking, right?" She wasn't joking. Harry watched uncomfortably as the stylist rubbed the oily lotion on his arms and shoulders. "Merlin's beard. This is mental," Harry said as she finished. He felt slightly guilty that he'd made her job so much more demanding than it had to be. "Sorry again."

"It's alright; I'm used to dealing with divas," she grinned. "I think that Miss Delacour is the one you should really apologize to. Now, run on over to Audio and Visual," Ellie commanded. "And don't dawdle! We're on a tight schedule!"

Harry followed her instructions, walking across the room to a nervous looking technician. Though he appeared to be younger, the short man was mostly bald and sported thick, wide-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes. "Mister Potter! It's such an honor!" The man said with an American accent as he shook Harry's hand vigorously. "My name is Cokeworth."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cokeworth. So, what am I in for?"

"Nothing too strenuous," he said, holding up a strip of flesh colored fabric roughly the size of a Muggle Band-Aid. "This is your Audio Device. I'm going to put it on your throat, right below your vocal chords, okay?" Harry nodded, and Cokeworth stretched to adhere the piece of fabric. After a moment, Harry could barely feel it.

"Alright, now we're going to set up your Video Device. Stand still for a moment." The short man opened up a case on his desk, revealing what looked to be a slightly too-large snitch, except it was black. The entire front of the snitch was dominated by a square, compact mirror. "This is enchanted to go wherever you go. It will follow you around, constantly trying to give the viewers the most epic angle it can find," Cokeworth explained. "If you're in close proximity to another Champion, your VD will automatically interact with their VD to provide the best experience for our viewers, so don't be surprised if Miss Delacour's VD focuses on you or vice-versa."

"Got it. So, how's all this stuff work?"

"A lot of enchantments," the bald man chuckled. "It's been my life's work to develop this stuff. I'm hoping that if the tournament goes well, I can find the same type of success that Muggle broadcasting companies have. Can you imagine? It would completely revolutionize wizarding entertainment!" Cokeworth tapped his wand to the Audio Device on Harry's neck, then on the Visual Device in the case, causing the VD to fly out of the case and hover around Harry's head. "Cinematic pictures, serial programming, news... I can monopolize the market! Quidditch fans alone would make me rich! Being able to watch every game instead of listening to it on the WWN? They'd pay through the nose for such an opportunity!" Thinking of Ron's fanaticism to the Chudley Canons, Harry had to agree. "In a decade I'll have a mirror in every home, you mark my words."

Harry cleared his throat, catching the shorter man's attention. "Am I done?"

"Almost!" Cokeworth replied happily. "Just needs a quick test to make sure everything's working!" Cokeworth picked up a large, square mirror in both hands, grasping it by two handles built on the sides. "Say something for me, Mister Potter."

"This is the dumbest thing I've ever had to do," Harry replied dryly. Cokeworth raised an eyebrow. "What? You told me to say something, so I said something."

The shorter man narrowed his eyes, but continued with the test. "Whisper something, please."

"This is the dumbest thing I've ever had to do," Harry whispered.

The vein on Cokeworth's head started throbbing. Harry briefly hoped that the pudgy man wouldn't have a heart attack. "Okay, now shout something, as loud as you can," Cokeworth ground out between gritted teeth.

"THIS IS THE DUMBEST THING I'VE EVER HAD TO DO!" Fleur's musical laughter echoed around the room. Apparently she was just as disenfranchised with the process as he was. Cedric merely looked at him, arching a brow.

"Well, it looks like the audio equalization enchantment is working perfectly," Cokeworth stated, looking up at Harry, loathing written across his face. "You're all done."

"Fantastic," Harry said sarcastically before walking away, leaving Cokeworth fuming in his wake. The snitch-camera, which he refused to think of as a 'VD,' followed him. He joined the other Champions by the Judges, most of whom were giving the young man disappointed frowns. Dumbledore was smiling, though, his blue eyes twinkling.

Fleur was dressed to match him, though her sky-blue tank showed off quite a bit of midriff and featured a rather plunging neckline that featured more than a little cleavage. Her beige, off-white shorts didn't even reach mid-thigh. The wide belt seemed unnecessary, considering how tight the shorts were. She also wore tall, knee-high leather boots and a pair of leather, finger-less gloves. Her long, platinum blonde hair was twisted into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder. Her exposed skin was coated in an oil similar to Harry's, which did interesting things to her exposed stomach and cleavage, and her face sported more makeup than he'd ever seen her wear.

"Wow, Lara Croft, are you ready to go raid some tombs?" Harry asked as he stepped beside her. Her blank look let him know that she wasn't a fan of video games.

"My name is Fleur," the beautiful witch said primly. "And I look ridiculous. My mother would be ashamed to see me dressed like zis in public."

"Is she going to be watching?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I will be receiving a letter from 'ome most certainly."

"Good luck with that," Harry grinned. turning to the other team. Lyra wore tight black trousers that looked painted on. If she'd had change in her pocket, Harry didn't doubt that he could have counted it. Her crimson long-sleeved shirt showed off nearly as much midriff as Fleur's, and while it didn't have a plunging neckline, a handy 'cleavage window' was cut out of the front. Her black hair was pulled back into a long, loose ponytail. Her violet eyes were heavily lined and shadowed, and her lipstick was so dark a red that it was nearly black. Harry guessed that the stylists were really playing up the whole 'Durmstrang Dark Arts' shtick.

She didn't seem too bothered by her attire, or lack thereof, standing confidently with her hips cocked. The raven-haired witch looked him up and down slowly, giving him a sultry wink. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

Cedric seemed like he'd gotten the best end of the deal, dressed in a red, collared button-down with the sleeves rolled, dark grey cargo pants, and black combat boots. Harry desperately wondered what Ced had done to get so much clothing while the rest of them were left half-dressed.

"How much did you pay your stylist?" Harry muttered. "You have actual layers."

Cedric chuckled. "Not all of us have the bodies of Greek gods, Harry." The older boy sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling. "You guys smell like a massage parlor."

 ********* **DN &C** *********

After a quick lunch, the Champions were ushered outside towards the Quidditch pitch. They were held back in one of the tunnels leading to the pitch proper, but Harry could hear the crowd already filling the stadium. The cameras followed them, whirling around their heads, always trying to get the best angle. Harry was quickly getting annoyed by the dog and pony show. He just wanted to compete and get this done with. Was that too much to ask?

"Ladies and gentlemen from around the world, thank you for your support of the Tri-Wizard Tournament!" Ludo Bagman's voice boomed. "Today, we'll watch our Champions compete in a team based Task of skill and strength! The twist? Only one member of each team has their wand! The other must do ALL the physical challenges!" The crowd muttered, obviously interested. "Let's introduce our CHAMPIONS!"

The crowd roared its approval. "On the Red Team, standing at five-foot seven, hailing from jolly old England, I give you the Durmstrang Champion! LYRA NOIR!" Lyra strode from the tunnel and the crowd went wild. The young woman was sex on legs, sashaying her way towards Ludo Bagman in the center of the pitch. Many boys in the crowd whistled their approval.

"And her teammate, standing at six feet tall, weighing in at one hundred and eighty two pounds... your HOGWARTS CHAMPION... CEDRIC! DIGGORY!" Cedric walked from the tunnel confidently, his back straight and head held high. He gave the crowd a jovial wave, and the entire stadium shook from the crowd's response. The Hogwarts students seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Ludo waited for the crowd to settle before continuing. "And on the Blue Team, standing petite at only five-three, hailing from Piana, France, I give you the Beauxbatons Champion... FLEUR DELACOUR!" Fleur walked as primly as her attire would allow, managing to turn a video game stereotype into the picture of elegance.

"And our final Champion... standing tall at six-foot two, weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds of rock-solid muscle, I give you the BOY-WHO-LIVED... HARRY! POTTER!"

Taking his cue, Harry walked across the stadium like didn't give a damn, because he honestly didn't. When he'd been conscripted into the tournament, he'd never expected all of... this. He ignored the deafening crowd and the camera flashes. This whole thing was a ridiculous, over-sexed, over-hyped circus that he couldn't really take seriously. He might've been nervous if the tournament had been held with more pomp and circumstance, but this farce just annoyed him. He'd rather be working on his swordplay. "I want to have your babies!" a female in the crowd shrieked, and Harry nearly palmed his face.

He joined the other Champions by Ludo Bagman and the rest of the Judges. Bartemius Crouch stepped forward, a decent-sized flag on a long silver pole in each hand. The Ministry official placed the blue flag in a stand in front of Harry and Fleur and the red in front of Cedric and Lyra. "Champions!" Ludo roared. "Your Task is to be the first to plant your flag at the top of the final obstacle! On my mark, grab your flags! Let the Tri-Wizard Tournament... BEGIN!"

 **A/N: I really meant to do the entire First Task this chapter, but I kind of got carried away with the setup portion... so this is kind of a filler chapter. The next one will have the First Task. If you haven't been able to tell, I've really changed up the order of the Tasks. I didn't want to do the dragons until later, because I want Harry to at least have his shield before going up against the Horntail. A lot of you seem to be under the impression that this is a Harry/Bella story, which I will neither confirm nor deny. The pairing, like I've said before, will not be revealed until later. It may be Bella. It may be Fleur. It may even be Hermione. Sure, right now he's getting on well with Bella, but there's no guarantee that that relationship will last. They are very different people, and Bella has hurt a lot of people that Harry cares about. Also, Bella has some not-so-nice plans for Harry; she's evil, remember. I don't know how much I can stress that Bella is an evil person. They may be able to resolve their issues, or another lady may swoop in and save him from Bella's dastardly schemes.**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: So here's the First Task! I hope it meets all of your expectations. You guys should get a pretty good idea of the pairing from this chapter. If not, then I don't know what to tell you.**

 **Elvander72: He's already started to. Notice that he didn't have any wariness towards her before forging his sword, but now she's sending small alarm bells ringing through his head.**

 **Nysk: I'm not going to burn myself out. This story is eating through my week off from work, though. I can't seem to put it down. As for Bella/Harry... I think that it's really only possible in time travel fics and Dark Harry fics. I just can't see Light Harry getting with post-Voldemort Bella, even if she reformed. Too much bad blood there.**

 **01eggy10: Well, you got your wish.**

 **Mwinter1: Lyra Aurora Noir is the name Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black chose when she used a Dark Ritual to regain her youth.**

 **Guests: Hermione and Ron are Harry's best friends. They always have been. I know that neither of them are the most popular of characters, but they will play a major role in the story. I can't see a Light Harry abandoning them. Grey or Dark, maybe, but a Light Harry? Not a chance. I do think that you're being a bit too hard on Hermione. She is a good, loyal friend who has never done anything but stay by Harry's side, even at her own detriment. As for her 'tantrum,' I think that you are being a bit harsh. She's only ever had two friends in her entire life. When one of them suddenly changes beyond recognition, of course she's going to be upset.**

 **Arthas Potter: It wasn't originally going to be that long, but it kind of got away from me. I had so much fun writing it, to be honest, even if it was mostly filler.**

 **Chapter Seven**

Harry hated Portkeys. This was the third time he'd used one, and it was the third time he'd landed on his ass, except this time he'd fallen into a large puddle. Fleur's musical laughter echoed through the cave that they'd appeared in as the blonde doubled over, unable to contain her mirth. "Are you okay, 'Arry?"

"Nothing injured," he replied irritably. "Nothing except my pride, anyway."

"Come 'ere." The French witch cast a Drying Charm on his wet clothing. "It is okay, 'Arry. I will not tell a soul. Ze Visual Devices, on ze other hand, may not be so discerning." She gestured towards the cameras flitting about the cave.

"Fantastic," Harry said dryly as he realized that the entire magical world had witnessed humiliation. Draco Malfoy was probably laughing himself silly. "Let's just get on with this."

"As you wish, _mon amie_." The duo studied the cave they'd been transported to. There didn't seem to be any clear exits. There was a hole the size of a quaffle in the ceiling, which let in a decent amount of light, but was definitely too small for either of them to fit through.

"Do you see anything?"

" _Non._ " Harry followed the wall going one direction, while his teammate went the opposite way. He was looking for cracks, crevices, anything that could lead them through to the next obstacle. "'Arry! I 'ave found something!" Harry jogged to her location across the cave. She was standing beside a large boulder, her lithe body pressed against the wall. "Zere is something behind 'ere."

Harry pressed himself against the cave wall, and sure enough, there was a slim crack between the boulder and the wall, lit by a dim source of fire beyond. "I see it." He looked at her, expecting some hocus-pocus, but it seemed like she was waiting for him to do something.

"What are you waiting for? Make with ze pushing,"

"Excuse me? Use a Reductor Curse and turn the whole thing to rubble," he replied, stepping away from the boulder. The thing was almost as tall as he was and at least five feet across.

"Very well." The blonde twirled her wand at the boulder, launching a bright blue beam of light... that ricocheted off the apparently warded stone and exploded against the ceiling above, showering them with a hail of large stones. Harry dove towards his teammate, twisting as he grabbed her, knocking them both to the ground and out of the way of the falling rubble. The young man landed roughly on his back as intended.

"So _forward_ , 'Arry," Fleur teased as she lay on his torso. "Careful, a lady may get ze wrong impression." She giggled at his blush, standing and dusting herself off. "I told you zat we were better off moving ze stone by 'and."

"Pushing it is, then."

"Next time we do things my way," Fleur flashed him a dazzling grin.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry grunted as he threw his shoulder against the huge stone blocking their path. Ever so slowly, the rock started to move. His back and shoulders flexed with the effort, straining against his too-tight shirt. With a final grunt, Harry toppled the tall piece of rock onto its side, watching it tumble to the cave's floor with an almighty crash. "Happy?"

"Very. We get to proceed, and I get a nice view," Fleur teased. "Zat was very impressive."

"Ha, ha. I'd like to see Cedric do that," he replied dryly. "That thing was heavy."

"If 'e cannot, zen we will win," the French witch replied. "And I really want to win. It's why I picked you. What did Lyra call you? A trained gorilla?"

"Something like that," Harry said irritably, grabbing their flag from the middle of the cave. "Let's go."

"Lead ze way, Jimbo."

Harry clambered over the fallen boulder and into the passageway beyond. The passage had a pretty low ceiling, forcing him to stoop his head uncomfortably. A single torch was sitting in a bracket on the wall. He held a hand out to assist Fleur over the boulder, which she accepted graciously, before appropriating the torch for future use. "Stay close," he ordered as they proceeded. As they walked down the path, the torch and Fleur's wand became their only source of light. As the cave grew darker, Fleur drew closer to him, sharing the bright light of her wand.

"I think we are are going down," Fleur said. "It is very subtle, zough." Harry agreed. The path was definitely sloping downwards. Eventually, the path ended with nothing but hole a little bigger than a person. The hole appeared to be nothing more than a gaping maw of darkness.

"How deep, do you reckon?"

"'Ow am I supposed to know?" She canceled her _Lumos_ spell, picking up a nearby stone the size of her palm. " _Lux_ ," she breathed, and the rock started to glow softly from within. Harry was dazzled by its steadily shifting color. Fleur dropped the glowing stone into the hole, and they both watched it fall, leaning over the pit. A few moments later it clattered onto the cave floor below. "Oh, zat is not zat bad at all!"

"You're not the one who's going to have to carry two people down that far," Harry griped. "What is that, three hundred feet?" He accepted Fleur's conjured rope, looping it through a crevice in the wall that had probably been created for just that purpose. As much as it might appear to be, this cave was not natural, after all.

"Oh, 'Arry. You are not going to 'ave to carry me. I am a witch," she grinned. " _À bientôt._ " With a little wave, she jumped into the hole.

"Bloody showoff," he griped, making sure she was clear before tossing the rope, flag and torch into the pit. "I could do that, too!" He started his descent, hand over hand, his muscles straining to grip the rope. As strong as he was, he was also carrying a lot of weight. "Couldn't have conjured a knotted rope, now could she? That would have been too much."

Her soft giggle echoed up to him. "'Urry up, Jimbo! We do not 'ave all day!" She called when he'd reached roughly the halfway point.

"Well, why don't you find the next obstacle while you wait?" He shouted back irritably, grunting from his exertion. "I'll be down in a minute!"

" _Comme vous voulez,_ " she chirped, which Harry took as assent. As he lowered himself down, he could see the light from her wand moving further and further away. "Zis room is _énorme_."

"Yeah, well, don't wander off too far," he cautioned. "I'd hate to get separated down here."

Her only response was a scream of terror, followed by multiple spells fired back to back. The orange light of Blasting Curses lit up the cavern, and Harry could see several... things... surrounding his teammate. Looking down, he judged the distance to the floor beneath him, then let go of the rope. He landed as well as could be expected from a thirty foot drop onto hard, uneven rock. Nothing felt broken or sprained. He could hear the camera buzzing to catch up, but he didn't care. Fleur's curses had become more frantic. "'Arry! 'Elp me!"

Snagging the torch as he sprinted towards her, Harry called Lily into existence. The sword appeared in a flash of silver light, its comforting weight settling into his right hand as he ran. The creatures assaulting Fleur were small, the size of children, but they were legion, more and more pouring out of holes in the walls. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of them, crawling over each in their desire for fresh meat. They looked like some mad wizard had combined a dog, a lizard and a goblin into one disgusting, slobbering monster. Fleur's Blasting Curses were blowing them to smithereens, but they would eventually overwhelm her.

He cut through them, dispatching two or three with every sweep of his bastard sword. Lily's fire flared to life as it sliced into his foes with reckless abandon. Harry felt himself get lost in the fight, hacking and slashing, all form forgotten as the beasts fell before his fiery sword. Fleur's curses rocked the ground around him, sending the beasts flying in masses of gore and flesh. Finally, he reached his teammate. They stood side by side, wand and sword flashing in the darkness.

Finally, the creatures abated, retreating back into their holes. "Holy shit," Harry gasped. "That was crazy."

" _Oui_ ," Fleur replied, gasping for air. "I am assuming zat zey were supposed to be a 'magical' obstacle."

"Yeah, I don't see Ced fighting off those things with a torch," Harry said. "What were they? I've never seen them before."

"Kobolds," Fleur said. "Zey are native to caves in eastern France and Belgium. Zey dislike fire."

"Then why the hell were you using Blasting Curses?"

"I panicked!" She defended, blushing. "I was all by myself and zey were scary. I used ze first thing I could think of." She glanced down at the sword in his hand. "You, on ze other hand, are full of surprises. A c _hevalier_ , 'Arry?"

"You say these things, Fleur, and I have no idea what they mean," Harry said grumpily.

"I believe ze English word is knight," she said. "Zough it may not be ze same. A _chevalier_ is a courageous man who rides a horse into battle and follows ze codes of chivalry."

"Well, I don't know about the 'chivalry' part, but I certainly don't ride a horse," Harry said. "Though apparently I'm supposed to tame a Pegasus at some point. That should be fun."

Fleur laughed, casting spells to clean them of the dirt, blood and offal that clung to their skin and clothing. "I told Lyra zat I could see you with a sword," she cocked her head. "It suits you, I think. How did you conjure such an item with no wand?"

Harry didn't know what to tell her. He wasn't about to out Godric and the Order on a global broadcast. "It's complicated."

"Indulge me, 'Arry. 'As it something to do with ze glove you insisted upon? Ze one zat forced me to dress like a _prostituée_ twice?" Her tone was sickly sweet, but Harry could sense the irritation in her voice. Apparently she hadn't gotten over the wardrobe mix-up.

"Gauntlet," the young man corrected. "And yes, they're related, but the bracer isn't necessary to summon the sword."

"You are making no sense," Fleur stated, her eyes narrowed.

"Let's just say that the sword is a part of me," Harry evaded, not lying but not telling the whole truth.

"Fine," she huffed. After a moment she gave him a sly, slightly flirtatious look, her blue eyes flashing with mischief. "You know, as a little girl I dreamed of a brave _chevalier_ sweeping me off my feet."

"Don't let Ced hear you say that," he said, dispelling Lily in a flash of silver light. "He'd probably buy a horse within the hour." The blonde giggled. "Let's find the way out. _Together_ this time."

"You are ze one 'o wanted me to explore," she snapped. "Do not place ze blame at my feet, and do not forget ze flag." Rolling his eyes, Harry jogged back to the hole. Fleur's rope was gone, but their bright blue flag still lay beneath the mouth of the pit. "You can leave ze torch," she called. "I'd much rather you 'ave a 'and free for your sword."

"What if we need it? We might have to set something on fire or something."

"'Ave you forgotten zat I am a witch already? If we need fire, I will conjure it."

"Well, you seemed to have forgotten how to conjure fire against the kobolds," Harry replied, dropping their torch upon the ground, shifting the flag into his left hand. "You know, you could just carry the flag, and we could have kept the torch."

"I am not allowed to carry ze flag," she replied primly. "I believe zat is part of your job as ze Champion without a wand."

"They never said that and you know it," Harry griped. "You just don't want to haul this thing around."

"It is done now, anyway," Fleur sniffed. "Let us find ze way out."

It turned out that there was no way out. They searched for nearly half an hour, checking every inch of the walls, but there was no exit. There were no holes in the floor or ceiling, except the one they'd entered through. "I don't get it. Where are we supposed to go?"

"I 'ave an idea," Fleur replied, her voice solemn. "But you are not going to like it."

"What is it?" The French girl pointed one elegant finger at the largest hole that the kobolds had climbed out of. It also appeared to be the one closest to the ground, only about ten feet off the cave floor. "You've got to be joking. There's no way in hell. I'll never fit through there."

"You 'ave to, 'Arry. It is ze only way." As much as he hated the idea, he had to concede the point. "It will be a tight fit."

"A tight fit? I'll probably have to dislocate one of my shoulders!" She arched an eyebrow, daring him to complain further. "Fine! Let me climb up there and pull you up."

" _Non_. I will go first. Your sword will be useless in such a tight space," she said, her cerulean gaze brooking no argument. "You will climb us up and I will lead ze way."

"Oh, Fleur. I'm a _chevalier_ , remember?" He said, advancing on her. "There will be no need for climbing." He grabbed the giggling girl by the waist, hefting her up into the kobold hole with little difficulty. She clambered a little way inside, giving Harry enough room to pull himself up into the ridiculously small space. It was more than just a tight fit. Harry's shoulders jammed against the walls of the narrow passage, his back scraping against the ceiling. He found that the only way he could move was to kind of lay on his side, using one arm to pull himself forward while kicking with his legs. His other hand clasped the flag tightly to his chest. At least he had a nice view of Fleur's _derrière._ He was suddenly thankful for skin tight shorts.

"Are you comfortable?" Fleur giggled ahead of him, crawling on her hands knees. "Zat looks very awkward."

"Go fuck yourself," Harry snarled. It was very awkward.

"Such _language,_ 'Arry," Fleur teased. "Zat is no way to speak to a proper lady."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I come across a proper lady."

She laughed, her lilting soprano filling the hole. "You wound me. I am starting to think zat you are no true _chevalier._ " A chittering, barking noise echoed through the narrow hole in front of them. "I believe we are about to have company."

"Make sure to use fire this time, not Blasting Curses."

"Silence," Fleur commanded testily. "I will not be so easily frightened again." Through Fleur's legs, he could see the dog-like scaly faces of the kobolds crawling towards them. The witch scorched them away with a long gout of flame from her wand, before continuing down the seemingly endless hole. It was slow going; she had to stop every few feet to clear the creatures from their path. Eventually, their little passage ended, dropping off into a large cave. Harry couldn't see past Fleur, but she had paused to assess the situation.

"What's it look like?"

"Ze room is lit by torches. Zere is a drop, which leads to a big lake. Zere is a boat at ze far end, but it looks like we can pull ze boat across with a chain. Past zat, zere is a very large, round door surrounded on it's edge by glowing runes."

"Okay, so drop out of the hole, run to the lake, pull the boat, row to the other side, then figure out how to open the door?"

"Something like that," Fleur paused. "Except, zere are quite a few kobolds between us and the lake. More zan ze last time."

"Outstanding."

"Well, it will not get any easier by sitting here," Fleur declared. "We will overcome zese creatures and win ze Task."

"I don't suppose you can do the whole 'fire-throwing-bird-of-death' thing, can you?" Harry asked. "That might come in handy."

"I am only a quarter-Veela," Fleur sniffed, obviously offended. "I am unable to transform. My wand will suffice. Let us get zis over with."

"As you wish, my lady." Fleur pushed herself through the mouth of the hole, using her wand to cushion her fall. Harry drug himself to the passage's lip, looking down. Fleur was almost twenty feet below, casting great, sweeping waves of flame to keep the kobolds away from from Harry's prospective landing spot.

"Well, this is gonna hurt like a bitch," Harry muttered, kicking hard with his legs while simultaneously using his free arm to send him over the lip. He tumbled out of the hole, turning end over end, bracing himself for an impact that never came. Instead, he landed daintily on the ground. Fleur smirked at him before turning back to the creatures. Harry scrambled to his feet, letting Lily flash into his hand. Fiery sword in one hand, flag in the other, he cut through the beasts that separated him and Fleur from the lake. The beautiful blonde witch matched him step for step, protecting their flanks with bursts of flame from her wand. The kobolds screeched and howled around them, but the Champions were untouchable.

They stood back to back, flaming sword and graceful wand. Kobolds poured from holes in the wall, skittering from the ceiling and leaping through the darkness. Harry struck down his foes with skill earned through hours of training, dodging, weaving, slashing, always advancing. A particularly close burst of flame forced him to glance over his shoulder.

When he'd first seen Lyra, he'd thought she was a goddess, a deity of wild darkness that promised passion and mystery. The Lady of the Lake had been a goddess of otherworldly, ethereal beauty, as distant and untouchable as the moon, offering peace of mind and self-reflection.

Both paled, insignificant, to the goddess before him now.

She was a goddess of fire. Born of flame and smoke, she stood untouched, no, untouchable in the flames of her own creation. She was passion tempered with elegance, a princess wreathed in burning grace. Her blonde hair had fallen free from its braid, dancing like the flames she commanded. She looked over her own shoulder, her cerulean eyes meeting his emerald gaze. She smiled, and Harry couldn't think of a single word to describe her beauty in that moment. The emotions in her eyes were indescribable, incomprehensible, but he knew that they were reflected in his own. That moment could have lasted a second, a lifetime, or anywhere in between.

"Get to ze chain!" Fleur shouted, a massive tongue of fire clearing the path. "I will hold zem off!" Harry nodded, letting Lily disappear in a flash of light as he tossed the flag next to the thick, steel chain that would bring their only escape from the seemingly never-ending horde of monsters. The chain was insanely heavy, and dragging it through the water would prove no easy task. Each pull strained his thick muscles to the limit. The boat was so far away, and every inch he gained felt like a herculean task. Fleur had to be running on empty by now. She'd been throwing around powerful Blasting Curses and conjuring massive flames since they'd begun the Task.

He pulled faster, trying to keep some sort of momentum, but it felt as if the boat was fighting him the entire time. His arms and back ached, straining from this seemingly impossible task, but the boat was still so far away. Too far. There was no way Fleur could keep up at her current pace. He needed to move faster. Screaming with effort, Harry pulled harder, faster. Sweat rolled off his face, soaking his shirt. Faster. Harder. Left hand. Right hand. Left hand. Right hand. It became a mantra in his head. Faster. Have to pull faster.

A single kobold managed to skirt Fleur's flames unnoticed, lunging at Harry's unprotected back. Caught unawares, he was unprepared for the sharp pain lancing through his left leg as the creature sank its powerful jaws into his thigh, driving him to one knee. He could feel the creature tear a chunk of flesh from his leg, wrenching a howl of pain from his throat. The chain slipped from his grasp, and to his horror some unknown magic started pulling it back the other way.

Throwing aside the kobold now clambering up his back, the young man desperately lunged for the chain, catching it in his hands, refusing to let it slip from his grasp again. The kobold dove at him again, its bloody maw open wide, only to be roasted in mid-air by a ball of flames. Fleur's cerulean eyes were burning with rage and concern as she gazed upon his leg, but she turned back to the creatures threatening to overwhelm them.

Unable to stand, Harry braced his good leg against a nearby rock and started pulling the massive chain again. It was even harder now, the boat seemed desperate to return to far side of the lake. Right hand. Left hand. Ignore the pain. Right hand. Left hand. Ignore the dizziness born from blood loss. Right hand. Left hand. The boat was close now, only a few short steps from shore. One more pull. He gripped the chain in both hands, pulling with all his considerable strength, and the boat finally nudged the shoreline.

"Fleur! Our ride's here!" She darted to him, their eyes meeting for a brief second. Grimacing at his profusely bleeding leg, she grabbed his outstretched hand. She tried to pull him to his feet, but he was far too heavy.

"'Arry, you need to get up!" He tried, getting as far as one knee, but the burning pain, light-headedness and sudden nausea joined forces to send him careening back towards the hard stone. "Get up!" Fleur commanded desperately. "I cannot lift you!" She was trying to drag him now, with very limited results. Looking behind her, Harry saw that the boat had once again started drifting towards the opposite side of the lake. Fleur stood protectively over him, sending a wave of flames at their attackers.

The beautiful witch knelt before him, stroking one hand across his cheek. Her blue eyes gazed into his. "Please."

Harry forced himself to stand. It took everything he had left, but he managed to half jump, half fall into the boat. He cried out in pain as his bad leg collided with the small bench inside. Fleur leaped nimbly over him, their flag in hand, her wand sending another wall of fire to keep the beasts from boarding their escape raft.

"'Arry! I need for you to stay with me," she said, her voice deceptively calm. "You are losing a lot of blood." He tried to stay awake, but the dark edges of his vision threatened to swallow him. He saw Fleur cutting away the left leg of his pants, casting several teal colored spells at the vicious-looking wound. The darkness threatened to overtake him again...

A delicate hand on his face brought him back to the moment. "Stay awake, _mon chevalier,_ " she commanded softly, returning her attention to his injured leg. He watched her work, her silvery blonde hair masking her beautiful face. He noticed that the boat had picked up a bit of speed as it moved towards the other side of the massive underground lake. "Zere. I 'ave done all I can. It will 'ave to do."

"Thank you, Fleur," Harry said. "You're amazing."

"You should not act so surprised. I am Fleur Delacour," she teased. "It will be a moment before we reach ze other side," the blonde witch said, checking the boat's progress. "Will you be able to finish?"

Harry pushed himself to his feet. It still hurt like hell, and he was still lightheaded, but he could put weight on his leg again. "Yeah. Let's win this thing." Her brilliant smile was worth the pain, though he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. "How about you? Are you okay? You're been throwing around a lot of magic; I don't know how you're still standing."

"I am fine," she lied. "I will need a long bath and some sleep after we win, though."

"Same here," Harry said, sitting down and leaning against the side of the boat, his large form occupying most of the available space.

"You are taking up all ze room," Fleur griped, settling herself against his muscular frame. Her petite body nestled in the hollows of his arms, though she was careful to avoid his injured leg. "But you do make for a very comfortable pillow."

"I aim to please."

They sat in companionable silence for several long minutes, each enjoying the closeness. "I don't know if you 'ave considered it, but ze door will likely be guarded by something," Fleur finally said as they neared the far side of the lake. "It seems unlikely zat zey would just let us open ze door in peace."

"As long as it's not more kobolds," Harry grimaced. "I don't want to see another one of those things for as long as I live." He looked at the door looming ever closer. "You're right. One person will have to unlock the door while the other deals with something else. It's how they've done pretty much everything else for this Task."

"I was not expecting zis, to be honest," Fleur said ruefully. "After seeing ze outfits and ze Visual Devices, I was expecting zis to be a joke."

"Same here," Harry admitted. "But I think we're almost through this."

"I am sure we are close," Fleur said, checking the time with a _Tempus_ spell. "We 'ave been down 'ere for almost three hours."

"That's it? It feels like it's been days," Harry chuckled. "How do you think Cedric and Lyra are doing?"

"I cannot say. Lyra is a very accomplished witch, I 'ave 'eard," the French witch said thoughtfully. "Perhaps as good as me, if not better. But I 'ave a natural affinity to fire zat she cannot 'ope to imitate, and I do not think zat Cedric will have completed the physical obstacles as fast as you."

"To be honest, I don't know how he would pull that boat at all. I could barely move it, and I don't mean to brag, but I know I'm a lot stronger than he is." He had Godric's potions and sadistic workouts to thank for that.

"I am not sure, then. It seems unlikely zat zey would provide an impossible task," she said, extricating herself as the boat washed up onto the lake's rocky shoreline. "Are you ready?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this."

"Zen let us go." The duo clambered out of the boat, Harry with only some minor difficulty. They walked towards the door, wary of any sudden attacks. "How proficient are you with Runes and wards?"

"Hypothetically? Excellent," Harry said honestly. "However, I've never actually opened a Runes textbook or deconstructed any wards, so take that as you will."

"Zere are two ways we can open ze door, I think," Fleur said. "I can pick ze lock, which would require me to deconstruct the ward, layer by layer, with my wand."

"Or?"

"You can metaphorically kick ze door in by overcharging ze Runes."

"Which is faster?"

"Kicking ze door in is always faster."

"Then let's just do that." Harry placed his palms on the door and began channeling his magic through the Runes. As soon as he did, though, a howling roar echoed from above.

"I was afraid of zis," Fleur said tiredly. "See, ze problem with kicking down ze door is zat you'll wake up everyone in ze house." Harry watched as a monstrous beast leaped from above, landing by the lake shore and whirling to face them.

Harry had originally thought that kobolds looked like dogs breed with lizards and goblins. This new creature looked like some mad wizard had breed a wolf, a drake and a troll. The thing was utterly massive, standing taller than Harry at the shoulder, covered in black shaggy fur and a reptilian head coated n red scales. Its long, dark claws clicked on the stone with every predatory step forward, while its beady, intelligent eyes focused on the exhausted Fleur Delacour.

"Fleur? You may want to start picking that lock now," Harry said, stepping towards the beast and getting its attention. Lily appeared in his hands in a flash of silver light. Fleur shot him an angry look as she drew her wand and stepped beside him.

" _Non_. We do zis together," she spat. " _Je suis Fleur Delacour_. I am not some weak maid to be protected."

The creature roared at their defiance, showing off a muzzle filled with sharp, yellow teeth. Its malice and anger rolled over them in waves. Harry dashed forward as Fleur's fire conjuration arced over his left shoulder. The creature recoiled from the flames, rearing up on its hind legs to tower over them. Pivoting, the young man ducked beneath the beast's retaliatory swipes, Lily cutting deep into the monster's rear leg.

So began their dance, Harry weaving in and out range of the monster's fangs and claws, striking then retreating, then striking again. Fleur assisted from the sidelines, her spells pummeling the beast whenever Harry moved out of the line of fire. Slowly but surely, the creature wore down. While Harry hadn't had the chance to deliver a finishing blow, his many strikes slowed the beast considerably.

"Move, 'Arry!" Fleur called, causing the young Initiate to roll to the side. The French witch strode forward confidently, conjuring a cone of fire so large and hot that Harry had to shield his face from the overwhelming heat and blinding light. The beast howled with rage and pain, trying to get away, but there was no escape from Fleur's burning wrath. Sweat rolled off Harry's face and neck as the spell went on.

Finally, Fleur quenched her conjured flames, falling towards the stone floor from exhaustion. Harry caught her before she could hit the ground, holding her petite frame in his massive embrace. The creature, whatever it had been, was nothing more than roasted flesh and sizzling sinew. "Are you okay?" Her blonde head nodded against his chest. "Rest now. I've got things from here."

Sweeping her into his arms, Harry carried the Beauxbatons Champion to the circular door. She was barely awake, drifting in and out of consciousness. Though she seemed unhurt physically, he knew that she was most likely suffering from magical exhaustion. He set her down ever so gently against the wall, turning his attention to the wards. It was time to kick the bloody door down and get out of this hell hole. The young man pressed his palms against the door, channeling as much magic as he could into the Runes along its edge. The wards, overloaded with his sudden influx of magic, failed spectacularly and explosively, tossing Harry backwards. He tumbled painfully, reopening the wound on his left leg, finally rolling to a stop by the lake's edge.

He lay there for a moment, succumbing briefly to the pain. His leg was throbbing, his blood slowly pooling onto the stone below. He needed to get up. He needed to get Fleur out of here. She was in no condition to move, so it was up to him to see them to the end. If anything else attacked in their shared moment of weakness, they'd be finished. Groaning, Harry forced himself to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Fleur's small, delicate voice called.

"Peachy," Harry said sarcastically as he limped to her side. "How are you?"

"Tired," she smiled up at him. "Zat last spell was intense."

"You're telling me," Harry laughed, settling against the wall beside her. "I thought you were going to roast me on accident."

"I would never roast you, 'Arry," she sniffed. "I am insulted at your implications. I am in full control of my magic."

"Yeah, yeah. Fleur the Powerful and Wise."

"And Beautiful. You must not forget Beautiful," she grinned, then adding, "and 'Umble, as well."

"I'm sorry. It's so hard to keep up with all her Highness's titles."

"You will learn, _mon chevalier._ " Harry blushed at the term of endearment.

"I suppose we should get a move on," he said, though he didn't feel like moving at the moment. "Otherwise Lyra and Cedric are going to win." Using the wall to support himself, he struggled to his feet.

Fleur whined adorably. "I was just getting comfortable."

"Come on," he replied, scooping her into his arms. "Up you get." He shifted the witch into his right arm, holding her like one would a child. Her dainty arms wrapped around his neck. Stooping, he collected their flag, which had seen better days. The blue cloth was slightly singed and tattered around the edge. Using the silver pole as a make-shift walking stick, he carried the young witch through the now open door.

An excessively long passage greeted them. The ceiling arched overhead, and torches bracketed the wall every ten feet or so. The corridor stretched before them, and Harry could only faintly make out its exit in the distance. He supposed if they had been in better condition that this would be the 'sprint to the finish.' As it was, it was merely a long, arduous, shuffling journey towards the light at the end of the tunnel. The silver flagpole rang out sharply against the stone floor with every other step. Looking down, he noticed that Fleur had fallen asleep in his arms.

After what seemed like an age, they finally emerged from the tunnel into a relatively small room that stretched high overhead. Directly ahead stood a tall, smooth wall, stretching at least three hundred feet to to the top. Two thick ropes hung down its length, coiling on the stone floor at the bottom. A small river bubbled to his right, separating them from a passageway almost identical to the one they'd come from.

So this was it. One more grueling climb and they'd get out of here. Using Lily to slice the last ten feet from their offered rope, Harry crafted a makeshift harness for the still unconscious Fleur, securing the petite witch to his muscular frame. Her arms wrapped around his neck, Fleur's beautiful face nuzzled against his chest as he slid their flag into the space between them. His already aching muscles screamed in protest as he began his ascent.

It was slow going. Every foot, every inch was a hard-fought test of masochism. Hand over hand, again and again he climbed. He focused solely on placing one hand over the other until he heard shouting from down below. A quick glance down and to the right confirmed his fears. Cedric and Lyra had just sprinted through the other passageway. Cedric was pointing up at him while Lyra conjured a set of straps.

Harry tried to climb faster, but he didn't have anything more in the tank. Either his current speed would be enough, or they would lose. He had a head start of at least a hundred feet, so hopefully it would suffice. Grunting with effort, he continued his slow, steady climb.

Cedric and Lyra had apparently worked out their climbing situation. The witch hung a few feet below Cedric in some sort of harness that buckled into a similar harness around Cedric's waist. She carried their flag cradled in her lap. The Hufflepuff was apparently more fresh than Harry, because the older boy was climbing with startling swiftness. To Harry's alarm, Lyra had drawn her wand and was studying him with calculating eyes.

"Fleur, love, I'm gonna need you to wake up now," Harry gasped.

"Can't. Too sleepy."

"Yeah, bedtime's gonna have to wait," Harry said, glancing back down below at his opponents. "I need you to get up. Cedric and Lyra are here."

She opened here cerulean eyes, blinking slowly. "What's going on?"

"We're climbing the final obstacle. Cedric's gaining."

"Climb faster," she said, smiling softly.

Harry shook his head. "We have too much of a head start. They're not going to catch up." He judged the distance towards the top and each of their current speeds. At this rate, Harry and Fleur would reach the top first.

"Zen what is ze problem?"

"I think that Lyra's come to the same conclusion," he swallowed. "And I think she's about to blow us off the wall." That got her attention. Her blue eyes focused, glaring at the raven-haired witch below and fumbling for her wand. Harry followed her gaze, watching the Durmstrang Champion raise her wand, a manic gleam in her eyes. It all happened as if in slow motion. Later, Harry would be able to recount the next few moments in excruciating detail.

Cedric seemed to realize what Lyra was planning. "What are you doing?" The Hufflepuff roared. "You'll fucking kill them!"

" _Diffindo_!" Lyra's voice echoed in the small chamber, her violet eyes flashing in the torch light.

"NO!" Cedric kicked at her hand, his foot connecting a bare instant after the hot pink Severing Charm left her wand.

Fleur readied her wand, preparing to block the spell.

Too late, they realized that Lyra hadn't aimed for them, but for the rope anchoring them to the wall.

Harry watched impotently as the Charm cut neatly through the thick rope.

Cedric was shouting, one hand reaching out as if he could bridge the twenty feet that separated them. His face was twisted in fear.

Harry grasped their blue flag, pulling it from between them, flinging it away as he twisted in mid-air so his back was towards the ground.

Lyra's violet eyes were wide in shock and disbelief, unable to comprehend what she had done.

Fleur was screaming something in his ear, her wand aimed past Harry's shoulder.

Harry curled his arms around her, trying to shield her from the worst of the fall.

Impact.

Darkness.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Daring, Nerve and Chivalry**

 **by**

 **Justin Jossart**

 **A/N: Wow! I appreciate all the feedback you guys gave on the First Task! This chapter has a lot less action, but it's definitely not filler. The second half of Chapter Eight sets the tone for the rest of the Harry v Bella arc that is Fourth Year. Enjoy!**

 **Emrys Akayuki: Thank you for pointing out your confusion. I have since gone back and edited Chapter Seven to make things more clear.**

 **BrotherCaptainSheperd: Another one on the Hermione hate train. This story is now officially Harry/Fleur, no need to worry.**

 **ObsessedWithHPFanFic: Sorry about the cliffhanger, but that was really the perfect place to end the chapter.**

 **Elvander72: Lyra is a complicated character. She got caught up in the moment and made a bad decision (for her). She's scrambling to attempt to salvage something, anything at this point. However, she's going to unknowingly suffer another setback very soon.**

 **PinaySmith: Well, your need is now sated. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'm glad you're enjoying my Harry and Fleur.**

 **GoldenJackal: I really appreciate you going out of your way to review. It means a lot. I'm trying to tell the best story that I can, while keeping a believable power progression throughout.**

 **Celtic-Moon-Wolf: Sword Harry is rare, but can turn out really well if done right. I think the trick is making sure you don't give him too much powers outside of the sword; If he can slay armies with a single spell, what use does he have for a sword?**

 **Thanks to everyone else who reviewed!**

 **Chapter Eight**

"Welcome back to _Chatting With Champions_! I'm your host, James Longstaff along with Traci Sparks, and boy do we have a program for you tonight! Traci?" Harry Potter watched the procession irritably from his seat on the comfy couch just off stage. He'd barely been conscious for an hour before being rushed to see Ellie and her stylist team for this ridiculous farce. At least Fleur was here; according to Madame Pomfrey, the blonde witch had been by his bedside for the past three days.

"That's right, James. Tonight we're finally going to get the chance to speak with Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour regarding their epic journey through the First Task!" Traci was a somewhat attractive woman in her late twenties with bottle blonde hair. Though, in Harry's opinion, her makeup was caked on way too thick and her voice was breathy and high-pitched. Harry knew he was being unfair, but he really didn't give a damn.

"But first, we have some expert opinions on their harrowing journey through the caves. Our first guest tonight is a woman who is widely regarded as a leading expert on Magical Creatures, authoring such books as _Into the Deeps: Magical Creatures of the Underground_ , Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank!" An elderly witch with short gray hair and a pointed chin shook James's hand amicably before seating herself in the chair opposite her hosts.

"Now, Madame Grubbly-Plank, what can you tell us of the last creature that Harry and Fleur faced off against?" Traci asked in her high-pitched squeal while an image of the creature in question appeared on the mirror behind her. "Lyra and Cedric didn't have the misfortune of running into it."

"The bugbear is a ferocious beast, very territorial, and highly resistant to most magic, though it shares the kobold's weakness to fire. It can sense magic with a sort of sixth sense," Grubbly-Plank replied professionally and succinctly. "When Mister Potter started to channel his magic to break the wards around the door, the bugbear sensed it and came to enjoy what it thought was an easy meal. I'm told that the bugbear was brought in as a sort of 'punishment' for trying to take the faster, easier route of overpowering the door's runes." Fleur shot Harry a glare, and he wisely mouthed his apology.

"So Fleur and Harry were right to go after the beast as they did," Longstaff stated, nodding along. Harry wondered if anyone else could tell that the man wasn't remotely interested in bugbears.

"Yes. Miss Delacour's highly proficient use of fire conjuration likely saved their lives, though I wouldn't bet against Mister Potter's firebrand."

Traci smiled brightly. "They seemed to work well together, didn't they?"

"Mister Potter and Miss Delacour showed admirable teamwork, in my opinion." Harry couldn't stifle his chuckle. The Ministry couldn't have found a less personable expert if they'd tried. Fleur smacked his chest, silently chastising him. He quirked a brow in defiance and the blonde witch narrowed her eyes in warning. Forcing a look of innocence on his face that fooled nobody, he turned his attention back to the interview.

Grubbly-Plank knew her stuff, describing the bugbear's strengths, abilities and weaknesses. His loyalty to Hagrid would never let him admit it aloud, but he secretly thought that she would probably be a much better Care of Magical Creatures teacher than his large friend. Longstaff and Sparks nodded along with Grubbly-Plank's explanations, their false smiles plastered upon their faces.

"Thank you, Madame," the host stood, shaking the older woman's hand. "That was very enlightening. Our next guest is the Senior Enchanter for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Gilder Grandfellow!" An ancient looking man tottered onto the stage, shaking hands with both of the hosts before taking his seat. "Now, Master Grandfellow, what can you tell us about the enchantment on the boat? Did it fail?"

Harry's brow raised. There was an enchantment on the boat? He looked at Fleur, who just shrugged. "No, not at all," Grandfellow said slowly. Every word fell from his lips like molasses. "The enchantment anchoring the boat at the far end of the lake did not fail."

"Then how did Harry drag it across the lake?" Traci asked. "When Cedric tried to do the same thing, the raft wouldn't budge. Lyra had to come break the enchantment before he could pull the boat across the water." An image of Cedric futilely pulling on the thick chain appeared behind them. The boy called to Lyra over his shoulder, grabbing his torch and fending off the kobolds as best he could while the raven-haired witch started working on the chain. The sight of her made Harry's blood boil. He still couldn't believe her dirty, nearly lethal tactics.

"Well, the enchantment wasn't designed to make the boat immovable, just to anchor it at the far side of the lake. As Mister Diggory showed, the two charms should have been interchangeable. Even Mister Potter's prodigious physical strength shouldn't have been enough to do more than nudge it in his direction." Fleur shot him a questioning glance, and it was Harry's turn to shrug.

"So what happened?" James asked, leaning forward.

"It appears that his emotions were running particularly high, and he believed that his strength would be sufficient to pull the boat across the water. His strong will, combined with his strength of arms, was enough to... stretch... the enchantment as it were."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Grandfellow sighed. "Imagine the enchantment as a stiff, magical rubber cord, connecting the boat and the chain to the opposite side of the lake. Miss Noir used her wand to sever that cord so Mister Diggory could haul the boat across and escape to the other side." The hosts nodded. "Now, Mister Potter pulled on the cord with all his considerable physical strength, and like rubber, it very slightly stretched, though it must have been a massive task to move it at all. Now, if you've ever stretched a rubber cord, you'll know that the further you stretch it, the harder it becomes to stretch it further."

"Mister Potter threw all his might against the cord, and it stretched, which is an admirable feat of strength by itself. However, he should have only been able to pull the the cord a very small distance without it snapping back."

"But it didn't snap back," Traci said, a vapid smile on her face.

"It did, actually. However, I assume Mister Potter was unaware of the enchantment. He likely thought the boat was merely heavy. His prodigious strength, which had served him so well up to that point, is likely what caused this misconception. If he'd been unable to move the chain at all with just his physical strength, like Mister Diggory, he'd have likely seen the enchantment for what it was, and enlisted Miss Delacour's help with removing it. However, since he'd been able to move it, even just a bit, with his arms alone, he believed with all his heart that he could pull it all the way across."

"This belief, when fueled by his emotions, focused his intent so narrowly that he performed what amounts to either accidental or wandless magic, depending on your point of view. It weakened the rubber cord just enough that his physical strength was enough to move the boat. That's why the 'rubber cord' pulled the raft back across the water whenever Mister Potter let go of the chain."

"However, as we saw, this was a mistake. It took Mister Potter considerably longer to drag the boat across than Mister Diggory's and Miss Noir's effort's combined."

"Interesting," Longstaff replied. "Thank you very much for your time, Master Grandfellow." The old man nodded, shuffling off the stage. "Now, the moment you have all been waiting for!"

"That's right!" Traci smiled. "It's time for us to greet Fleur Delacour and Harry Potter!"

Harry sighed, recognizing his cue. At least he was dressed this time; Ellie had insisted that he wear the leather armor Godric had provided him for the First Task, though he had no idea why. They had dressed Fleur in a beautiful red and amber gown that certainly covered more skin than her Tomb Raider outfit. Her silver hair was down, slightly curled, falling in waves over one shoulder. She was elegant and beautiful, looking like a proper lady.

The chair that the other guests had used had disappeared, replaced by a fractionally wider love seat. The only way for him to find any degree of comfort was to drape one arm along the back of the furniture, and Fleur was practically forced to sit in his lap. He was under no illusions that all of this was unintentional. The Ministry was many things, but subtle wasn't one of them.

"Harry Potter! The Boy-Who-Lived! It is such an honor," James Longstaff said. Harry reluctantly shook his hand. "And Miss Delacour! Welcome back to the land of the living! We appreciate you two crawling off your deathbeds to talk with us this evening!"

"You're welcome," Harry said without enthusiasm. "It's slightly better than the alternative." Fleur placed a hand on Harry's thigh, her cerulean eyes shooting him the briefest of warning glances before returning to Traci and James.

"We are very 'appy to speak with you," Fleur said brightly, a false smile adorning her face. If Harry hadn't seen her real smiles, he doubt he'd have been able to tell the difference. "We seem to 'ave missed our earlier appointment, yes?"

"Only by about a week!" Longstaff laughed. "So, how do you feel you did in the First Task?"

"I believe we did very well," Fleur replied, her false happiness driving Harry up a wall. "We made a few mistakes, like with ze boat and ze door zat cost us ze victory."

"Well, that and the attempted murder," Harry replied dryly. "That might have had something to do with it." Fleur's grip on his leg intensified, her manicured nails digging into his leather armor.

"So you believe that Miss Noir did indeed try to kill you?" Traci asked. "The Judges have claimed that it was an accident. They ruled that she cast a school level charm to hit the wall near you, but missed her mark and accidentally severed the rope."

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "Her **Severing** Charm 'accidentally' **severed** the rope? People are actually buying that?"

"Her testimony was provided under Veritaserum," Longstaff offered. "She has been completely cleared of any wrong doing."

"I am sure zat Miss Noir had no intention of 'arming us. As ze Judges 'ave said, she was merely trying distract 'Arry. It was an attempt to slow his ascent so zat she and Cedric could catch up. An unfortunate and perhaps misjudged decision, but understandable." Fleur silenced Harry's unspoken protests by digging her nails into his leg again. "Cedric and Lyra fought well and deserved ze victory. It is a mark of Cedric's good character zat 'e immediately climbed down to ensure our safety. Without 'is timely intervention and stabilizing 'Ealing Charms, 'Arry would 'ave died despite my attempts to slow our fall."

"You were not in mortal danger as well? You fell just as far as Harry, Miss Delacour," Traci Sparks said, obviously changing the tone of the conversation.

"I 'ave 'Arry to thank for zat," Fleur replied. "'E shielded me with 'is body. I only suffered a few broken bones and magical exhaustion." She looked at her teammate, smiling. Unlike the grins she'd given the show hosts, this one made her cerulean eyes sparkle. "'E is very brave, a true _chevalier_ , even zough 'e does not 'ave a horse."

"Awww," Traci cooed, her hand fluttering to her chest.

"Speaking of, the world is dying to know more about your sword, Harry," James said, his eyes gleaming. Harry stifled a chuckle. They'd finally reached a topic the talk show host was actually interested in. "Would you care to tell us more about it?"

"No," he said simply.

Both of the hosts seemed taken off guard, though Traci Sparks tried to salvage the situation. "Surely there's something you can tell us."

"No, there's not."

"What 'Arry is trying to say is zat it is a deeply personal matter zat he would prefer to keep private," Fleur supplied.

"Fascinating," Longstaff replied through gritted teeth, his false smile never leaving his face. "There are rumors that you two are a couple? _The Lady of Flames and Her Fiery Knight_ was the byline in the _Daily Prophet_. Would you like to comment?"

"No."

Fleur's nails dug into his leg even deeper. If she clutched his leg harder, they might have actually pierced the leather. "What 'Arry means is zat we are good friends 'o 'ave not talked about ze possibility of becoming romantically involved. It would be unwise to speculate in public without discussing it first amongst ourselves."

"Is there any chance that you'll attend the Yule Ball as a couple?" Traci asked, obviously enjoying the byplay. "I'm sure all the girls at Hogwarts will want to know if the school's most eligible bachelor is off the market."

"Zere is always a chance, Miss Sparks."

"Well, that's all the time we have!" James said, turning to the camera. "We'd like to thank all our guests for their insights. Next time on _Chatting with Champions_ , we'll be speaking with Jerry Varnum about the latest odds on all our Tri-Wizard Champions! Good night!" After a few seconds pause, James Longstaff stalked off the stage. "Where's my damn Firewhiskey?"

"Wow," Traci said, watching her co-host practically assault a technician. "I haven't seen him that worked up after a show since that Umbridge woman. You've got a real talent for pissing people off."

"It's a gift," Harry replied as Fleur slid off his lap. He straightened, stretching out the kinks that came with having half his skeletal structure repaired or rebuilt. "Don't ask about private matters if you don't want me to be private about them." The woman shrugged and walked away.

Fleur rounded on him. "You are impossible! I cannot take you anywhere!" Her scolding was somewhat hindered by the wide grin on her face. "'Ave you never learned of tact?"

"I've been too busy fighting Dark Lords and saving Ladies of Flame," Harry joked. "Honestly, I don't know why you put up with me. I thought you didn't like people who were rude and uncouth."

"You are cute enough to get away with it," Fleur teased, brushing her hair out of her face. "Zough it is a very close thing. Still, you should try to make an effort with ze reporters. Public opinion can go a very long way."

"As long as I have you around to tell people 'what Harry is trying to say,' I think I'll be fine." He started to lead them towards the door of their private room at the Hogshead, but Fleur grabbed his arm.

"'Arry, I want to thank you." She was looking up at him earnestly, her blue eyes filled with emotion. "You were willing to sacrifice your life for mine. I will not forget."

"Don't make me out to be some kind of brave hero, Fleur. I was only reacting on instinct."

"And zat is what makes it all ze more 'eroic. I'd kiss you on ze cheek, but you are too tall," she sulked. "Ze 'eight difference, as exciting as it is, is frustrating."

Harry grinned, kneeling down to her level so she could playfully plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Rubbing his cheek with the back of his sleeve in disgust, he started to pull away, but Fleur's delicate hands held him softly in place. She leaned forward again, pressing her lips gently against the corner of his mouth. "I mean it, Arry. Thank you."

"Well, I figured you landing on me was better than me landing on you," he said, giving her a wry grin.

She frowned, her delicate eyebrows furrowing. "Must you turn everything into a joke?"

"Sorry. It's kind of become a habit lately," Harry said, rubbing the back of his head. They left the Hogshead and started their short trek back to Hogwarts. Hogsmeade was pretty charming in the evening, he decided, especially with such a beautiful young woman on his arm. Realizing that she was still waiting patiently for him to say something, he tried to find the right words.

"Honestly, Fleur, I'm just glad that you're alright," he finally said as they passed Honeydukes. "Everyone keeps talking about my sword, but you were the main reason why we made it as far as we did. You're the one who held off the kobolds while my dumb-ass self decided to pull a supposedly immovable chain. You're the one who defeated the bugbear. Hell, I'd have never thought to crawl through the kobold holes in the first place." He looked down, suddenly very interested in his boots. "I'm just sorry that you did all those things and I wasn't able to pick up the slack when it mattered."

" _Non_!" Fleur said sharply. "Do not place ze blame at your own feet. Lyra cheated and tried to kill us. If she 'adn't, zen we would 'ave won. Do not forget, you were ze one who saved me from ze kobolds when I 'ad panicked, and you were ze one who defied all odds and pulled zat chain. You stood toe-to-toe with a powerful magical creature with nothing but a sword and came away unscathed. You were ze one who carried me when I could not carry myself."

"So you don't buy the whole 'My Severing Charm accidentally Severed their rope?" Harry asked.

Fleur scoffed. "Of course not. As I said in ze cave, she is a very accomplished young witch who should be able to aim her wand at a target less zan a hundred feet away. Besides, Veritaserum can be resisted. Zere is a reason why it is unusable in courts."

"But not, apparently, at Tri-Wizard Tournament disciplinary hearings," Harry snarled. "I can't believe she was only fined two points for 'unsportsmanlike conduct' and 'negligent endangerment.' What a farce."

"You're not mad at Cedric, too, are you?" Fleur asked.

"Of course not. You saw as well as I did that he tried to stop her. Then he climbed down and saved my life," Harry replied. "I owe him one, and I mean to pay it back at the first opportunity." They had arrived at the Beauxbatons carriage. Harry stood awkwardly, unsure if he was supposed to kiss her, but she solved his dilemma by planting another soft kiss on his cheek.

" _Bonne nuit_." she murmured. With a small wave and a brilliant smile, she disappeared through the carriage doors. Harry turned, strolling towards the castle in a good mood, though he cast a dark look at the Durmstrang ship as he passed by the lake.

Professor McGonagall was waiting just inside the front doors to greet him. "Mister Potter, the Headmaster wishes to see you in his office. He also wishes to inform you that he has a fondness of Tootsie Rolls."

Harry had been expecting Dumbledore to want to see him, but not quite so soon. Doubtless, the Headmaster wanted to discuss Lily and his sudden, unforeseen skill with a sword. Thanking the Deputy Headmistress, the young man hastened to the Third Floor. He carefully considered what he wanted to tell Dumbledore when the inevitable questions arose. He eventually decided that he'd be mostly honest; Albus was trustworthy. The old Professor may play his cards close to his vest, but he'd always had the Greater Good in mind.

Before his incident with the Goblet of Fire and his training with Godric, Harry may have been offended at being little more than a chess piece in the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Now he understood that the Dark Lord's defeat was more important than any individual person, even himself. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was true all the same. Like the Lady of the Lake had told him: Good leaders may have to sacrifice their men, even when they don't want to.

"Tootsie Rolls," Harry said to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's Office, carefully making his way up the steps beyond. To his surprise, Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, he sat in the quite squeaky and uncomfortable chair before the Headmaster's desk and waited. And waited.

After about ten minutes, he started getting bored. He stood, walking around the office and examining the Headmaster's many trinkets. Without knowing what they did, however, they were unable to hold his attention for long. Finally, he noticed Lyra's picture sitting on the Headmaster's desk, along with several newspaper clippings, both new and old, and a remarkably large book.

He knew he shouldn't pry, but he found himself curious. Was the Headmaster looking deeper into Lyra? Had he discovered something about the young woman that would explain her unprovoked attack? Against his better judgment, he began to shift through the papers on the Headmaster's desk. He felt guilty, but he had to know. If Lyra was truly interested in killing him or Fleur, he needed to be prepared.

He started with the picture of the young woman sitting on the desk. She was smiling at the camera, and Harry recognized it as one of the pictures she'd had taken at the Weighing of the Wands Ceremony. Directly beneath her picture was another one from what seemed to be an ancient newspaper, though after looking at it, he decided that it had to be newer than he'd first suspected.

Lyra's face was on this picture, too, though she appeared to be angry. She was flanked on either side by two large men who looked far too old to be Durmstrang students. He could see the same manic glint in her eye that she'd had at the end of the First Task. Frowning, Harry read the headline. _**Lestranges Attack Longbottom Manor!**_

Harry's mind processed the information, taking several minutes to do so. The caption beneath the picture clearly labeled them as Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, but the woman was almost definitely Lyra. Her hair was less cared for and she looked slightly older, but he'd spent enough time with the raven-haired witch to recognize the angles of her face. Perhaps Lyra was Bellatrix's daughter? Had she been the one to break her mother out of Azkaban?

He knew he was missing something. He turned his attention to the large book lying directly next to the newspaper articles. It was already opened about halfway through. "What the hell is a Reincarnation Ritual?" he muttered. The book would have been a very difficult read, written as it was in a very old English, but someone, presumably Dumbledore, had crossed out all of the difficult, unused language and replaced it with something that Harry could understand, though he wished that he couldn't. The ritual was extremely abhorrent, making him want to retch. Finally, he realized that Bellatrix only had a few close relatives left. He dropped the book, letting it fall heavily to the desk.

"Sirius!" Harry cried, a dark cold fear spreading throughout his chest. That bitch had used Sirius to make herself young again! That's why he hadn't received any replies to his letters! A dull rage built inside of him. Bellatrix Lestrange was Lyra Noir. She had murdered one of the only people he cared about to shave thirty years off her miserable life. She was Voldemort's spy in Hogwarts, and had probably been the one to enter him into the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

Dumbledore sat anxiously in his office as he adjusted the articles on his desk one last time. Harry's interview regarding the First Task had just ended, and the boy, no, young man would be returning to the castle soon. Everything was in perfect position. With Lyra Noir's picture to draw young Harry's attention, he knew the boy would be unable to resist peeking at his 'research.' He'd arranged the rest so one piece of evidence would lead logically to the next, finally culminating in the Reincarnation Ritual that would reveal Bellatrix's secret. The text had been difficult to obtain; he'd had to break into Grimmauld Place and search through its cursed library. He'd expected Sirius to be there, but it seemed that his former student had found somewhere else to hole up.

The Headmaster allowed himself to feel a bit of pride at his plan. He'd spent hours upon hours going over the memory of his conversation with the Dark Witch in his Pensieve, particularly the Unbreakable Vows he'd taken.

 _Do you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Vow to not reveal my secret? You will not speak of it, allude to it, imply it, or even write it down unless they already know?_

He'd watched it again and again, looking for loopholes, and he was finally certain that he'd found one. After all, he wouldn't be revealing her secret. He was just leaving some articles and books upon his desk; the fact that the papers happened to logically lead to her secret was irrelevant. He was not speaking of, alluding to, implying, or writing down anything regarding Bellatrix's new identity.

He was also certain that Harry would be unable to resist the temptation of learning more about the young woman who'd almost killed him. After all, the young man had a penchant for sniffing out mysteries. Harry had many virtues, but minding his own business was not one of them.

Dumbledore had also noted that Bellatrix had said 'secret,' as in only one. Everything else they'd discussed that evening would not be Bound by the Unbreakable Vow, though such a discussion would be pointless without the knowledge that Lyra Noir had once been Bellatrix Black. Once Harry had that knowledge, they would be able to discuss the topic relatively freely.

 _Do you Vow to never intentionally disrupt my plans and activities with Harry James Potter? That you will never intentionally turn him against me?_

The second Vow he'd taken had been ridiculously easy to circumvent. Bellatrix Black, now Lyra Noir, may be a powerful, skilled witch, but one could hardly accuse her of being devious. She'd refused to tell the Headmaster any of her plans. Therefore, there would be no way for him to _intentionally_ disrupt them. That part of the Vow was toothless. As long as he didn't intrude on her 'activities' with Harry, then he would be in no danger of breaking his Vow. He could even tell the young man that Bellatrix sought to use him without endangering himself. For all he knew, Harry learning her identity was part of her master scheme. It was unlikely, to be sure, but still inside the realm of possibility.

The final portion was also simple to avoid. After all, he'd promised to never intentionally turn Harry against _Lyra Noir,_ and he fully intended to keep that Vow. Bellatrix Black, on the other hand, was a completely different story. It was hardly his fault that knowledge about Bellatrix and her plans would also alter Harry's opinion of Lyra Noir.

Smiling to himself, Dumbledore heard Harry give the password to the gargoyle at the foot of his office. After double checking the papers on his desk one last time, he hurried into his private rooms and closed the door.

He waited patiently as the young man trooped up the steps and listened as Harry sat in the squeaky, lumpy chair he'd intentionally conjured. He stood just behind the door as the Champion fidgeted in the chair for nearly ten minutes before finally exploring the office. Harry's footsteps carried him around the room, pausing at several points. Finally, he heard his student's footsteps make their way to his desk. Dumbledore waited with baited breath. If he'd been wrong, if he'd misjudged the loophole, he'd be dying at any moment. Doubt crept its way into his chest, but the old man fought it down. Finally, he heard the heavy tome land solidly on his desk. "Sirius!" Harry's voice cried out, filled with pain and grief. Apparently, the young man had made the same wrong assumption he had. However, Albus would be able to correct this particular error of judgment.

 ********* **DN &C** *********

"I still can't believe that Sirius helped her do something so vile," Harry said, sitting on the new, more comfortable chair the Headmaster had provided. "Why didn't he contact me? Warn me about her?"

"I suspect that he is both ashamed of his actions and Bound more tightly in Unbreakable Vows than I am," the Headmaster replied. "I am surprised that you are taking all of this so calmly, Harry. I expected you to be more angry with me."

"I understand why you did it," Harry said simply. "Sacrificing one person to save a thousand has to be difficult, especially if you care about that person. I'm sure you've beaten yourself up over the whole thing enough."

The Headmaster nodded gravely. "I spent a great deal of time trying to find a loophole in the Vows."

"So what do we do now?"

"I can take no action against her, nor advise anyone to do so. She has already made it clear that her incarceration or death would 'disrupt her plans for you.' My hands are tied. If I act against her or advise someone to incarcerate her, I will die. Instead, I will leave the matter in your capable hands."

"What?"

"I have faith in you, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry felt his chest swell with pride. "I trust that you will be able to handle the situation admirably, ensuring that Bellatrix does not harm you or any of the students or staff." The Headmaster paused. "However, I believe that she may be in possession of another of Voldemort's Horcruxes. After my conversation with her, I decided to look into his family, then traveled to his mother's ancestral home. The site was disturbed, and the Horcrux, if it was ever there, was nowhere to be found."

"And if she gets sent back to Azkaban or winds up dead..."

"Then the Horcrux may be lost to us forever. For now, I advise you to play her game. Wait for her to tip her hand, then after you secure the Horcrux, do what you deem best."

Harry nodded. "I won't let you down, sir."

"I know you won't. You have never done so in the past, and I have no reason to believe that you'll start now. If I may give you one more piece of advice?" Harry nodded. "Confide in Professor Snape. He knew Bellatrix very well. He will be able to help you get into her head and understand her, as well as being a powerful ally when the time comes." Harry grimaced. He could think of at least a dozen people he'd rather tell than the Potions professor. "Trust me, Harry. Professor Snape should be the first person you bring into this."

"I will," Harry promised, though he loathed the thought of spending any amount of time with Snape. "Is that all, Professor?"

"Actually, there is one more topic I'd like to discuss. I notice that you've joined the Knightly Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry was stunned. He hadn't expected the Headmaster to know so much about the origin of his sword. "How did you know?"

"I'd like to think I'm knowledgeable on many subjects," Dumbledore replied. "Gryffindor's ancient Order sparked my imagination as a young man. During the last war against Voldemort, I led a group of the same name to oppose him and his followers, though we didn't use any fiery swords. I must say that I am surprised that you have managed to join their ranks. May I inquire how you've managed this remarkable feat?"

After a moment's hesitation, Harry told him everything. After all, the Headmaster was treating him as an equal; he should do the same. He spoke about finding the room, learning from Godric Gryffindor and meeting the Lady of the Lake. He didn't expect Dumbledore to react so strongly to his description of his encounter with the Lady, but the old professor had stood, knocking aside his chair.

"You say that she destroyed this 'darkness not of your creation?' Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked. "This is very important, Harry."

"I felt her magic break it into a million pieces. My scar was burning, though. I could hardly think."

The Headmaster righted his chair, sinking into it before stroking his beard. "I believe that you may have been in inadvertent Horcrux for the Dark Lord, if what you're telling me is true. I had suspected after you showed the ability to speak Paseltongue... but I wasn't sure."

"But it's gone now?"

"If what you say is true, then the fragment of Voldemort's soul, if that was indeed what it was, is gone." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You have no idea of the burden you have just lifted from my shoulders, Harry. I have been contemplating the possibility for more than a year, researching ways to safely remove a Horcrux from a living being."

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the old man. "You carry too much of the weight, sir. Everyone expects you to solve their problems. Stop the Dark Lord, help run the country, run the school... I can't imagine."

The Headmaster chuckled. "I appreciate your concern, my boy, but you should be more worried about yourself. I have little doubt that you'll be filling my shoes someday."

"No offense, but I'd rather not. I don't really see myself as a teacher or politician, to be honest."

"I would have said the same, at your age." Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "You are powerful, intelligent and competent. As you age, you will find yourself and others loading more and more responsibilities upon your shoulders. It is the curse that comes with your many gifts. Hopefully, you will find someone to pass these responsibilities on to before you reach my age."

"Who did you find?"

"You," the Headmaster said simply. "I know that you spend much of your time in the Hall of Gryffindor, Harry, but I was hoping that you would consent to spending one evening a week in my company."

"Doing what?" Harry asked, getting more excited. Special lessons with the Second Coming of Merlin? He'd more than willingly make time for them.

"It will be up to you to lead the fight against the Darkness after I am gone," Dumbledore said. "I would like to make sure that you're ready to carry such a burden."

"What are you going to teach me?" Harry asked. "Magic?"

"No," Dumbledore replied. "Godric Gryffindor is a more than able teacher in the art of combat and dueling. I'm going to teach you something that is much more difficult to master: Politics."


End file.
